For any of you here for an update on The Anomaly, unfortunately I have not been able to work on it these past few months. I was really hoping that I could work on it in-between everything going on in my life but that's just not possible right now. There's a lot of deadlines I haven't been able to meet and I can't justify working on my ff when I've fallen behind on so much of my irl goals.
Unfortunately, I'm going to have to put The Anomaly on a hiatus for now. I do intend to finish it at some point, but at this time, it's not looking like I'll upload until maybe next year.
Sorry to those who have been looking forward to it. I'll try to get back to it as soon as possible.
Miguel sat quietly in a corner of the large junk riddled room. He kept his eyes up at the lovely stained glass skylight overhead. The warm sunlight transformed by the vibrant blue and green, bathing the room in color. The yellow, orange, and red were more subtle, dancing and shimmering across his vision. Normally, it would strain his sensitive eyes and it did, just a little, but it was gorgeous. A classical craft that had gone by the wayside in 2099. It was a rare luxury. One he would much rather look at than the blood splattering floor and the cooling corpse of an Otto Octavius.
Miles and the Spot were working through the room determining what was worth taking. “–reactor could be useful,” the Spot was saying. “I was thinking of maybe having a home brewed collider so we don’t have to rely on Alchemexes to restock on my spots.”
It was a smart idea. While in theory, they would never run out of universes, and consequently Alchemexes, they would have to continue to calculate new universes to hop to with colliders. And not all Alchemexes had working colliders. It would be much easier for them if they just had their own. More reliable. But that was none of Miguel’s business.
“So take it,” Miles said.
Obviously, but the problem was–
“Are you kidding? Do you see how big this thing is?” The Spot waved widely at the massive machines.
“What? You can’t make a portal big enough for it?”
“Well, it would be unsafe to just drop it in one. It’s delicate machinery, ergo the reactor part of the fusion reactor.”
And now they will turn to him and–
“Any suggestions, Miguel?” Miles asked, purposefully trying to include him in their crimes, build his guilt, make him feel even more awful than he already did.
“He’s disassociating,” the Spot said.
“I can see that.”
“I’m not.” Miguel’s first words since they set out to Doc Ock’s lair.
Miles propped a hand on his hip. “Well?” Waiting for an answer to his earlier question.
“No.”
Miles huffed. “Why are you pouting? I know you have no problem killing villains.”
But Miles shouldn’t be.
And Miguel only killed during extraneous circumstances. He didn’t take pleasure from it. It was his last resort, one that he tried to avoid. It was an option that most Spiders refused to take. That was a noble choice, but one that sometimes had dire consequences.
No, Miguel had no gripes with the deaths of villains, but rather the corrupting nature of making that decision. Miguel… accepted that it was a choice he had to make because he always had to make the hard calls. But that was him, and Miles…
The fall of Miles Morales should have never happened. And with every life taken, every drop of blood soaked into his skin, he only sunk deeper. He drowned in corruption and drank it down like it was his lifeline. Miguel wondered if he was too far gone to be saved. No. Of course he was. So many universes gone. Far too many lives taken. All by Miles and the Spot’s hands.
But that left the incredibly difficult decision of whether to kill them when the time came. Miguel knew his answer. Or at least he should. When he really thought about it, maybe he didn’t need to kill them. The Spot could be rehabilitated, just give him a project to work on and he wouldn’t be a problem… probably. At least his chances of being rehabilitated were higher than Miles’. But Miles would be far less of a threat without the Spot at his side. Miguel might not have to kill either of them if he could just separate them.
Oh, who was he kidding? He had no choice to make. He was the useless, powerless, damsel in distress here. There was nothing he could do but wait to be rescued. Or die.
“Earth to Miguel!” A gloved hand waved in front of his face.
Fine. He brought his sightline down just enough to look at Miles. “What?”
He smirked. “I’m getting the feeling you don’t want to be here,” he taunted.
“I don’t. When will you be done?”
There was a tick in his brow. “As soon as we can figure out how to get the reactor out of here which you could help with, since you seem to be in such a rush.”
Miguel looked back at the Spot still circling the reactor. “No.”
Miles was no longer amused. “So don’t complain,” he snapped.
“I didn’t.”
It happened so fast Miguel didn’t even feel it. He saw the red glow of Miles’ activated gauntlets first, the blood staining the tips second, then the feeling of something running down his chin last. He brought up a hand to brush it away. It stung at the contact. It came back bloodied.
Miguel tilted his head towards the ground to let the blood drip off his cheek and onto the already messy floor rather than stain his shirt.
“Come on Miles. Leave him alone. It’s probably his time of the month.”
“That’s a very outdated and problematic insult, Mr. Ohnn.”
“Yeah, I know. Now get over here and help me out.”
Miles huffed and went over, leaving Miguel to sit as pain radiated from the bridge of his nose down to his cheek. The bleeding already slowed, the itchy feeling of it scabbing over bothered him far more than the sting itself. He resisted the urge to scratch.
The Spot was very carefully extracting the reactor core from the main machine. Looked like he figured out how to safely transport it. Or blow them all up. That wasn’t such a bad outcome.
“Proximity alert.” An alarm rang overhead.
Miguel shut his eyes. No. Why? How did this cyclical battle come to be? Why did these Spiders have to die? Why did they have to throw themselves to their deaths? Think, please. Get backup before engaging. Why was it that the hero with ‘friendly’ in their title tended to work solo? Make it make sense.
Miles rolled his shoulders and stretched. He activated his mask and shook himself loose. He leaned against a table, readying to play with whatever Spider flung themself through the window.
Red shattered through the glass. But those were repulsor engines. And there was a gold accent instead of the typical blue. And a distinct lack of a spider motif.
Miles was taken aback, his nonchalant persona taking a bit of a hit. “You’re not Spiderman,” was the first words to tumble out of his mouth.
“Astute observation, Sherlock,” the man said.
“What business does Ironman have with Doc Ock?”
“Yeah,” the Spot said, locking the core in a case, presumably made to contain it. He dropped it in a portal. “This is usually a Spiderman show.”
“He has other things to deal with,” the whirring of Ironman’s repulsors whined in their ears. “You get us.”
“Us?”
Miles shoved the Spot out of the way of a flying hammer while ducking under a shield. Both of them dodged a volley of arrows. Miguel’s eyes widened. It couldn’t be. But the yellow wrist bracers pointed at him said otherwise. He held his hands up in surrender.
“Now this is just ridiculous!” The Spot yelled, running from Ironman’s repulsor beam. “What could Doctor Octopus have done to get the attention of the Avengers?”
“Well, you make an unstable fusion reactor by the Hudson bay and you get our attention.” Captain America caught his shield as it bounced back into his hands. He stood blocking the wide double door entrance and consequently the exit.
“Gotta admit, wasn’t expecting this,” Hawkeye said, high up perched on a metal beam, nodding his head towards the clearly deceased Otto.
Thor hovered on the opposite side of the room as Ironman, surrounding the villains on land and in air.
Of all the universes they jumped to, the Avengers were never a problem, until now. Miguel’s heart raced, beating with something he hadn’t felt in a while. This was his chance. Miles was caught off guard and unequipped to even take on even a pair of Avengers let alone five.
Miles dodged with much more grace than the Spot, who was more tripping into his portals than stepping into them, his nervousness showing. But even Miles wasn’t able to put up much of a fight. He was used to Spiders’ attack patterns, trained on countering their speed and fluidity, but the Avengers were a different beast. And it was clear this one actually trained with each other regularly.
Captain America threw his shield, using the moment they took to dodge to close the distance. He was unsurprisingly no-nonsense, and militaristic in combat. Every movement had a purpose, when he stepped into Miles left, it gave room for Ironman’s repulsor blast to singe Miles’ right. Ironman was still human, his attack speed was human, his reaction time was human. Miles could have evaded Ironman forever, Captain America too probably, but together they were able to whittle him down. Every one of the Captain’s punches set up the next hit or opened up a vulnerability in Miles’ defenses. Ironman saw and took every one. Their guards never faltered, giving Miles no opening to exploit.
Maybe if Miles had not been caught so unaware, he and the Spot could reverse the situation, but he was on the backfoot now. He spun and flipped, dodging with more grace and agility than they were expecting. Captain America and Ironman failed to completely pin him down.
The Spot fared worse. He had no spidersense like Miles and only avoided being hit by flinging himself through portals. His attacks against Thor were worthless and Hawkeye had good spatial awareness, dodging any surprise attack he tried to throw his way.
Thor’s supreme control over his hammer meant that whenever the Spot tried to counter-portal, it always stopped short of hitting another Avenger. He was the heavy hitter and demanded the Spot’s attention otherwise he would get KOed in one hit. It left plenty of room for Hawkeye to get his licks in, punishing the villain’s blindspots and even when he summoned multiple defensive portals, Hawkeye’s pinpoint accuracy saw all the cracks in his walls.
Miles and the Spot were holding their own, emphasis on holding. The Avengers couldn’t get in the finishing blow, but the duo couldn’t do anything. That was close enough to a loss. This was Miguel’s chance. As much of one as he’d get.
“Help me,” Miguel whispered to Black Widow. She raised a skeptical brow, so he glanced at the gleaming metal cuffs around his wrists. “Please.” He hoped he conveyed his desperation, hoped she could see it.
Black Widow remained skeptical. Smart woman. But that didn’t help him in the slightest. Her eyes roved over him, her brain working overtime. Her eyes stuck over the grim line of his lips, the freshly scabbing wound across his face, and maybe even more damning was the hollowness of his eyes. Her frown deepened, but her skepticism ebbed.
Miguel lowered his hands slowly. “Don’t let them take me,” his voice strained. “Even if I get hurt, don’t let them take me.”
Black Widow’s expression morphed into concern. “Let me get those off you first.” She gestured to the cuffs.
“It won’t be easy.” He wouldn’t be surprised if Miles chose to solder the damned things to his flesh. It was never Miles’ intention to take them off.
“Try me.” She grabbed his right hand and began looking over the surface. It was a smooth metal, no grooves, no gaps, nothing for her to try to pick. She raised her bracer to run a scan, a small screen appearing to show her the results. Her brow furrowed. “This is quite advanced.”
Understatement. “If you can’t–” His eyes shot over to Miles blocking a punch from Captain America. He was made of tough stuff. If he couldn’t get out now– If Miles saw him colluding with Black Widow– He didn’t want to think of the consequences. He just knew he had to get out. She might have to cut through them. But did any of them have that sort of precise tool on hand right now? Probably not.
She could cut off his hand if she had to. Limbs were replaceable. Did they have advanced prosthetics in this universe? Damn. What year was it here? He hadn’t paid attention to anything, too busy… removing himself from the situation. But if she cut them off and Miles still got to him, he would be in an even worse situation.
A weight fell from his wrist, slamming into the ground, and rang like a bell throughout the room.
Miles’ head snapped to look at him. Their eyes met. The air stilled. His arm stuck out and caught Captain America’s shield. “Miguel!” he called. He threw the shield between Miguel and Black Widow, separating them. “Come here!”
Miguel took a step back.
Miles took a step forward. He jumped, twisting to dodge between a repulsor blast and Mjolnir, landing perfectly in a low Spiderman crouch.
A confused “What the–?” made it past Ironman’s mask.
“Mr. Ohnn!” Miles ignored them. “We’re leaving!”
Miguel jumped to avoid falling in the pit that opened up beneath him. Another one opened where he was about to land. Shit.
Black Widow tackled him out of its path. “Don’t let them take him!”
The Avengers didn’t hesitate to listen. Ironman launched a volley of missiles and Hawkeye, a wave of arrows to distract the Spot. Both Captain America and Thor engaged Miles to prevent him from getting any further. Black Widow dragged Miguel towards the exit.
Miles was having none of it. “Kneel!”
Miguel was dragged down by his left arm. His cuff refused to budge from the ground. He pulled at his arm with the other, and yet– Even with the Avengers catching them off guard, with all their power and might, not even they could save him. Stuck again. Helpless again. Useless again.
A portal opened underneath him. He couldn’t avoid it this time. He was going to be dragged back to one of their safehouses, beaten to hell, and left to toe the line between death and recovery for weeks. Again. Dammit all.
Thor grabbed his other arm, who strained to keep him from falling. “What kind of sorcery is this?” The god hissed through gritted teeth. He tried to pull Miguel up but it seemed even a struggle for him. Shit. Not even gods were stronger than the forces of science apparently. The Spot engineered these cuffs well.
“Don’t let him go!” Black Widow shouted, shooting her widow bites from her bracers at the Spot.
“I didn’t intend to,” Thor said, but he was clearly struggling. He adjusted his grip and roughly tugged Miguel, like trying to free him from rope. Unfortunately it didn’t work that way. Miguel ate a scream, swallowing into a sharp groan as he felt his shoulder pop out of its socket. “Don’t–” A wounded scream wormed out of him when Thor tried again. Agony laced up his arm and radiated throughout his upper torso. They had to finish this before Thor tore his arm off. “Aim for the short one,” he bit out through the pain.
He paid no mind to the fury and indignation Miles threw his way. All he cared about was that the Spot was forced to give all his attention to protecting Miles and the ground reformed beneath his feet. Thor let him go. It didn’t matter if he was still bound to kneel, the pain would have kept him there anyway.
“Miguel!” Fury filled Miles’ voice.
Miguel dragged his eyes up.
Miles was doing his best to dodge but he was being overrun, even with the Spot’s help. But his body language screamed that he was still trying to make his way to Miguel to drag his ass back over to them. His shoulders were set, rage over taking rationale.
Miguel had grown used to it, enough to know retribution would follow even if he obeyed. He let his eyes fall away.
“MIGUEL!”
“Miles, we gotta go!” The Spot was struggling to keep up. The Avengers were heroes, they didn’t go for killshots, but Miles was still hosting a few sluggishly bleeding wounds.
Miles snarled, disengaging from the fight. “You think they can save you?” He flipped over the Avengers surrounding him, landing next to the Spot. “No one can.” A portal opened up behind them. “Enjoy your free time, Miguel.” They stepped back into the inky black. “I’m coming back for you real soon.”
Miguel exhaled. And took a shuddering breath. And another. And another until the tension left with it. They did it. Miles was gone. He was shaking. His shoulder ached, but it felt like nothing compared the overwhelming feeling of relief and disbelief. But it was far from over.
The Avengers crowded around him. Black Widow knelt at his side. “You ok?”
“No," he said, through his teeth. “Set my shoulder, please. Left one.”
She didn’t even give him the chance to think about bracing for the pop.
A strangled yelp was pulled from his throat. He let his arm fall limp to his side before rolling his shoulder, testing Black Widow’s work. Impeccable, as expected. “Thank you,” he said, climbing to his feet. “All of you.”
“Great, now would you like to start explaining what the hell that just was?” Ironman asked impatiently.
“No, but I will.” He was feeling impatient himself. “You have a lab, I’ll explain everything there.”
“No, absolutely not!” Ironman squared his shoulders. “Give me one good reason why I should trust you anywhere near my sanctum.”
Miguel straightened up. Ironman didn’t take a step back, but it was a close thing, staring up at him in shock of how big the tower of a man was. Funny, with all that armor and extra bulk, he was still smaller than Miguel. “They will be back and we’re running out of time.”
That didn’t seem to dissuade any of their worries.
“Please,” he didn’t know how to convey the urgency of the situation they were in. “Put me under surveillance, it doesn’t matter, we have to go.”
Hawkeye crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s the rush? We beat them once, we can do it again.”
“No you can’t,” was Miguel’s genuine assessment. So much had to align just to get him this far. “You surprised them. You won’t get that leeway again.”
“Calm down,” Captain America tried to reassure. “We won’t let them get to you. We’re on your side.”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” Miguel murmured. “Please, I’ll explain everything at the lab,” he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Or just let me go. I’ll figure it out on my own.”
The Avengers looked around, silently speaking to each other and came to a consensus.
--
Miguel’s brows creased in concentration as his fingers flew across the keyboard, rewriting the program for his watch. He practically memorized the damned thing after spending so much time working on it. At least most of it. Still, it was getting frustratingly long to get down. He didn’t have his usual setup nor his handy macro keys. Not to mention there were some adjustments he had to make. If he just had Lyla–
Miguel let out a hissing growl; too much pain for it to completely settle in his chest. He relied on her for so much. And for as annoying as she turned out, she was his annoyance. She made his life so much easier. Her base code still existed; he knew that. She wasn’t a real person; he knew that. But she was gone . The only stability he had in life was gone. His constant companion was gone. She was gone. He was alone, just like Miles wanted.
“Hey, Grumpy cat!” Ironman came bursting through the lab doors. “Here’s your list.”
“Don’t call me that,” Miguel said, more instinctually than annoyed. He took the extended datapad from him. “Thank you.” He frowned down at its contents. It was a list of things he needed for the watch’s hardware. Not even half of it was invented yet. Mierda. He had to research alternative parts, but universe travel was more precise than just throwing together spare parts. He’d have to run simulations before putting anything through it. Hope was quickly leaving him.
How long did he have until Miles came for him? He was too smart to rush headlong into battle against the Avengers. They were an unfamiliar opponent. Miguel didn’t doubt Miles would find a way to win when the Avengers no longer had the element of surprise. The Hulk and Thor would be more of an issue, but none of the Avengers were necessarily easy prey.
Bruce Banner entered the room carrying a large box of parts. “I found some of the things on your list,” he said, placing it on the table. “I have to admit, meeting someone from another universe was not on this year’s bingo card.”
“Thank you,” Miguel said, sifting through the box. It was not a bad haul, at the very least he could start on some of the foundational parts. Still, he had a lot he needed to think about, what could function as replacements, how to rewrite his code to accommodate.
“But the implications of a multiverse are beyond astronomical! Ground breaking!” Bruce Banner exclaimed as he watched Miguel inspect the circuit board.
“Right,” Ironman said. “Almost like it’s hard to believe.”
Antman, who had been doing a terrible job of pretending like he wasn’t peeping at Miguel’s work, furrowed his brow. “Really? There is some scientific backing for the theory. I thought you would be all over this, Tony.”
“I am. I just find it hard to believe I didn’t discover it before this guy.”
“It’s because I am a part of the great web,” Miguel said quietly.
“Sounds like some cult shit.”
“It’s not–” he huffed. They wouldn’t get it. They didn’t understand the draw, the thrum of the call underneath their skin, nor the song that connected them all. He didn’t have a spideysense so he didn’t get the reverb that most Spiders did, but he still felt that pull, that connection. Maybe it did sound like cult shit to non-Spiders. So be it. He was lucky that whatever Spiderman called in sick for, kept him away for the time being.
The door opened once more. Hawkeye and Black Widow whispered to each other as they trailed behind Thor and Captain America. They were all still in uniform, but certainly had a more relaxed posture, likely to give off a friendlier front, but they all still had their weapons on hand and easily accessible. At the very least, he could take comfort in that the Avengers of this universe weren’t wholly trusting fools.
Everyone was gathered. Interrogation time.
“How are you settling in?” The Captain asked, softballing him.
“Trying not to,” Miguel said, he put down the circuit board and picked up the tablet, sketching out a rough idea of how he would use the parts Banner brought him. “The sooner I’m out of here, the better.”
“We won’t let them get to you,” he assured.
“I don’t think that’s up to you.”
“We stopped them once, we can do it again.”
Miguel doubted that. “Maybe if he’s reckless.” But that was unlikely. Miles would take at least a day or two to prep to come get him, maybe even three if he was up against the unfamiliar Avengers. But he didn’t know how long it would take to complete his watch and the damned cuff was the only thing preventing him from glitching out. He still had it on. Black Widow tried to insist on taking it off, but there was no point in it right this moment. Maybe later he could take the time to make a makeshift ‘day pass’, but right now he had to focus. The optimal way to use his time was to figure out how to get back to his home universe so that needing a day pass was irrelevant.
“Who is ‘he’?” Widow asked.
“The kid, Miles. He’s the brain.” Miguel thought for a moment. “And the brawn.”
“The kid ?” she stressed the word. “How old is he?”
His hands paused, calculating. He wasn’t 100% sure, but he estimated, “sixteen.”
Everyone else recoiled.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Ironman put a hand up. “You’re telling me, Cap and I were getting ran around by a sixteen year old kid?” his voice strained. Why did he sound so anguished?
Miguel blinked. They pushed them back, hardly being ‘ran around’. “You held your own,” he tried to reassure.
Ironman stared at him in disbelief. “And the other guy? Don’t tell me he’s an octogenarian.”
“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “Based on his history, I can only assume he is in his 40s.”
“His history?”
“He was a scientist working at Alchemex before his mutation. He worked on a few projects before the collider.” He shrugged.
“Collider?” Banner perked, interested.
“Typically in most universes, it's the first foray into multiverse traveling.”
“Fascinating!”
Antman picked up Miguel’s sketch of his watch. He scanned over the numbers that were jotted down. “The power draw is immense, and yet you got it to be in such a small form factor!”
Ironman came over to also take a look. “It’s not that impressive. My arc reactor can pump out more power than that.”
Miguel’s eyes snapped to the glowing blue circle on his chest. “Can I borrow it?”
“Wha- No!” He covered up his chest like a victorian maiden.
“Hm.”
“Boys, focus!” Captain America clapped his hands once to get their attention. “What do they want with you?” he asked, utilitarian as usual, wanting to get to the heart of the problem instead of wasting time with all the scientific faff.
Shame, because he could have distracted the science boys all day with future advancements and he really rather avoid this situation. “To make me suffer.”
“That’s vague,” Hawkeye pointed out. “Care to elaborate?”
Everything the Spot and Miles did was to make him suffer. He had no special power to abuse. There was no information to get out of him. He had nothing to give them, nothing but his suffering. “What’s there to elaborate on?”
“Hey, we stuck our neck out for you,” Hawkeye glared at him. “The least we could get is an explanation.”
Miguel huffed. “I don’t have time for this.” He knew his time was limited. Miles wasn’t just going to let him go.
“Are you serious?”
“What my friend here means to say is,” Black Widow stepped in. “An explanation could help us secure your safety.”
Hawkeye did not at all mean that, but maybe they were both right. They saved his life, he told them he would give them an explanation, he should at least try to keep them in the loop.
“He wants revenge,” Miguel settled on.
“Against you?”
“Who else?”
Black Widow accepted that answer regardless of the snark. “Why?”
“Not relevant.”
Hawkeye scoffed. “This guy…”
Miguel glared in return. “You want better answers? Ask better questions.”
“You want us to stop asking questions? Maybe actually answer them,” he snapped back.
“Miguel,” Black Widow stepped in to mediate again. “Why does he want revenge on you?”
His palms itched. “Does it matter? I don’t see how it helps your security.” He grabbed the tablet from Antman’s curious hands and Banner’s curious eyes. He probably didn’t need this much power, he didn’t need to consistently run the damned thing, he just needed one good jump. Gah, he still had to calculate his jump, he didn’t have Lyla to do it for him. Did he even have time to do that? If he didn’t have time, maybe he should just bank on the hope that he landed in a universe with a familiar Spider.
They must be able to read the anxiety rolling off of him.
“Are you running scared because of a kid?” Ironman taunted.
Miguel stilled. “That kid has collapsed hundreds of universes.” He looked up at him. “He has killed hundreds of Spiders.” He put the tablet down. “He is the reason trillions ceased to exist,” he snarled. “But yeah, just a kid.”
Ironman raised his hands placatingly. “You’re the one who called him a kid first!” Maybe he had just been trying to lighten the mood, but he didn’t understand what Miguel had gone through these past months.
“Because he is–” Miguel rubbed a hand over his face, frustrated at himself, at his situation, at all of it. Miles was a kid. He was, but he had also committed heinous crimes against the multiverse. But it was easy to forget that when he complained about the reading assignment the Spot gave him, or had his head tucked in his sketchbook. Even easier when the kid bounced on his damned heels after eating something really good. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Understand what? That he’s a kid?”
He growled frustrated. “Everything!” He ran his hands through his hair and gripped it at his scalp. He felt like he was losing his mind. How did it come to this?
“You said the child ends universes,” Thor said calmly. “What did you do to warrant the wrath of a universe eater?” It was not the booming personality Miguel was expecting. It was solemn, understanding. Maybe a part of him could relate to being on the receiving end of a child lashing out, demanding revenge for something that was beyond their understanding. But Miguel and Miles were not the same as Thor and Loki. Not even close.
“He thinks I killed his father,” Miguel finally admitted.
“Thinks?” Black Widow prodded.
He had given up on attempting to work in peace. “His father was destined to die. I stopped him from saving him.”
“Well, that’s not great,” Hawkeye said.
“Everyone deserves to be saved,” Captain America said. “Everyone deserves the chance to try.”
“Miles would agree with you.” Oh to have this conversation again. “But I did it to save his universe, one life for trillions.”
“What did you do exactly?” Black Widow asked, suspicion creeping in her voice.
He sighed. Oh to bear the weight of his failure, of his sins. “I locked him up for four days. I had to wait on the confirmation of his father’s death before releasing him.”
The room fell silent. They stared at him, a mixture of shock and horror at his admission.
“Oh, that’s really bad,” Hawkeye hissed.
“You did that to a child?” Anger was infecting the Captain, as it should.
Miguel knew he was wrong in how he handled it, he didn’t need these strangers to pile on. If they hated him, so be it. They wouldn’t understand. How could they? “Upon reflection, it wasn’t the smartest move.”
“‘Upon reflection,’ you hear this guy?” Ironman snapped. “Give us one good reason we don’t just hand you over to him, huh? Maybe stop him from destroying other universes.”
“You don’t understand.” The metal table bent under the pressure of his grip. “He doesn’t do it to get to me. He does it to punish me.” He stared at the scrap box, then at the metal cuff still around his wrist. “That’s why he keeps me instead of killing me.”
Miles wished to take everything from him, his freedom, his dignity, his autonomy. What would be left at the end? Nothing. How much did he need to take until he was satisfied? Everything. And Miles? What of Miles?
“That’s also… very bad,” Hawkeye tacked on lamely.
“It should have never gotten to that point,” Ironman said, still clearly furious at him.
“I know,” Miguel unclenched his jaw and unhinged his claws from the table.
“What possessed you to imprison a child?”
“I had to make the call.” He was always the one to make the hard calls.
“That is not a call any sane person makes!”
Sane? Yeah, maybe he wasn’t anymore. He had felt like he was losing his mind for years. Hard to say what normal was supposed to feel like, between his father’s beatings and his mother’s judgment. Maybe sanity was just something he never had. “I know.”
“And what kind of monster even thinks to imprison a child in the first place?”
His brain pounded behind his eyes. He could have tried to distract Miles. He should have. But… he was going to chase the Spot back to his universe. He wouldn’t have been able to pry the kid’s attention away from the danger that loomed over his family. Could he? “I know.”
“Only a cult would agree to that messed up plan!”
But the Society wasn't. Were they? If he was their leader… He didn’t feel like a cult leader. He hadn’t felt powerful, just desperate. They were a collective of Spiders that came together to protect the multiverse. It could be argued that they were going about it the wrong way, but if that’s all it took to be considered a cult nearly all of humanity and its societal functions as a whole could be classified as such. He protected the multiverse the only way he knew how. Was that so bad? Miguel’s headache was growing. “I get it already.”
Emboldened, Ironman took a step forward. “Do you? Because for all your talk of how wrong it was, you don’t seem so broken up about it.”
“Tony…” Captain America warned, trying to mediate the situation a little. But for how little they were all saying, it must mean they had to agree with Ironman to some degree. But of course they would. They were heroes. He was the one who did it and even he acknowledged the awful reality of what he did.
But what were they expecting out of him? He already admitted he knew he was in the wrong. Did they want tears? Beg on his hands and knees for forgiveness? What would satisfy them? But that was it wasn’t it? They just wanted to satisfy themselves with his shame. His repentance wasn’t for them , it never would be. “You don’t know anything,” he hissed.
Ironman scoffed, getting too close for Miguel’s comfort. “I know that you and your cult have so psychologically damaged this child that he’s gone on to destroy actual universes!”
“Guys–”
“You think I don't know that?” Miguel snapped. He wasn’t going to back down from this Ironclown. “I live with the consequences of my actions and of my inaction. Do not think for a second that you know them better than I do.”
“I don’t need to know them better to know that you were in the wrong!”
Miguel grabbed him by the top of his armored chest plate. “BUT I WAS RIGHT!” His blood pounded in his head. He didn’t even feel the arms grabbing him and trying to pull him off. “He destroys universes doing what I stopped him from doing!” He dragged Ironman closer just to shove him back.
Ironman stumbled, but was quick to recover and quick to level his repulsors at him. His jaw was set and his eyes full of fire.
“Hey!” Captain America used the leverage he had on Miguel’s arm to push and distance the two, standing in the middle of them. “Enough, both of you!”
Miguel’s chest heaved. “Maybe I should have tried to look into ways to stop it, if I could somehow stop a universe from collapsing.” All the Avengers stood ready, weapons hot, even Banner, though not in Hulk form, had a blaster in his hands. He had been working on something to stop universal collapses, but it wasn’t so advanced that preventing them was a guarantee. Should he just let the dice roll? Hope for the best? Bet with all of 1610’s lives? He couldn’t risk all of them for one man. “I could have tried, I'll give you that, and maybe in the future I can give that to them. But in that moment, with only two days left, I had a choice to make, and I let destiny take its course.”
Miguel wasn’t much of a religious person, much to his parents dismay. He hadn’t believed in anything like a god or destiny until he learned of the great web. Seeing all those Spiders live out the same tragedy… God was cruel and destiny was ruthless. Canon above all else, was inescapable.
Every Spider knew that truth all too well.
Miguel had pitied Miles Morales. His uncle had been killed right before his eyes and his father became the unfortunate police captain in his canon. He had Miguel’s sympathy, truly. Even the typical Peter Parker backstory couldn’t compare to his horror of having his family ripped away from him one by one right before his very eyes. And yet Miguel still…
“Please,” Miles begged, his hands against the orange wall of his cell. “Please, I just want to see my dad.” His voice was so small, weak and hopeless. His big doe eyes were hindered by the swelling from all the crying.
Peter had shirked off his meal delivery duties, so Miguel had to pick up the slack. He didn’t blame the man, it must be hard to see his mentee in such a state. Hell, it was hard for him and he had no personal connection to Miles. He felt bad for him, but– 1610 wouldn’t collapse, not under his watch.
He turned away. “I’m sorry, Miles.” At least after all this, he would still have a home to go back to.
“Fuck.” His fist tightened. Stupid– Should he have just let Miles go? Should he have let the kid be selfish and make the same mistake he made? If he was going by his own utilitarian standards, he should have just let Miles save his father and let him die with the rest of his universe. “FUCK!” He slammed his hands on the table, bending it in half. Metal parts fly towards the center, crashing into each other in an ear piercing clash. “You want to damn me for making the hard calls, THEN FIND ME A BETTER SOLUTION!” He felt liquid bubbling on his skin and running down his cheek. His frustration and anger warped his face into something vicious and the scratch Miles left him reopened and dripped onto the ground. Damnit.
“Let’s calm down,” Captain America and his stupid red, white, and blue.
Us? Apparently, he was the only one that needed to. The stupid group think tactic to calm a person down only worked when they didn’t realize it was being used. And he very much recognized that and it was very much pissing him off. He did not need to be coddled.
Antman scrambled to grab the hypospray they used on him earlier to stop the bleeding. Miguel let him tilt his head down to spray it on the offending wound. “I am calm,” he said. At everyone’s disbelieving gazes, “I was,” he corrected. “Until someone tested my patience.” He side-eyed Ironman.
“Yeah, sorry, there's an asshole in my lab,” Ironman snapped.
“Tony,” the Captain stressed.
“Would you kill a villain to save all their would-be victims?” Miguel asked. “I would. This choice is no different.”
“You locked up a kid!” Ironman spat.
Captain America looked between the two of them rather hopelessly, but mostly like a disappointed parent.
“I let a man die to save trillions of lives. And maybe that scope is too big for some small minded people to grasp,” he said pointedly. “But go down onto the street and tell every civilian they need to risk their lives for a man they don’t know.” He squared his shoulders. “Look me in the eyes and tell me if some guy came up to you and told you to risk your friends lives, your family’s lives, your children, everyone you love and cherish for a man you didn’t know, you would say yes. That you can make that decision for trillions of people all over the world, across the galaxies, throughout the universe.”
Ironman stayed blissfully silent.
Miguel returned the favor, turning to the crumpled table and potentially broken parts. And after Banner went through all the trouble of gathering them for him… “Sorry, about the…” he waved at the mess.
Miguel scrubbed a hand over his face. He hated this. He hated being under the microscope of other heroes for them to judge. He never felt like enough, his morality, his actions… him. He didn’t want to make the decisions he made, but he hadn’t seen any other way. He said things he regretted and certainly didn’t handle it perfectly.
Miguel heaved a sigh and knelt to sift through the parts littering the ground. He had to see what was salvageable, hopefully still make something out of this mess. He had hurt Miles. He didn’t mean to. No– ugh– he had. Maybe Ironman was right about one thing, what fucking possessed him to do that? He… he shouldn’t have hurt Miles. Should have found another way. Shouldn’t have rushed that interaction. Shouldn’t have let Gwen handle that mission. Maybe shouldn’t have even taken in Gwen after her father pointed a gun at her; he probably wouldn’t have shot. Or maybe he would have. How was Miguel to tell? Even if he liked to think he had been a good father to Gabriella, he knew better than most that fatherhood did not make a good father.
“You know now what you did wrong and learned from it. That’s a good first step.” Captain America squeezed his shoulder, ever the paragon of bettering yourself and second chances. The problem was that Miles didn’t want to make amends, he just wanted Miguel to hurt like he did. “We’ll stop him and then you can talk.”
Miguel couldn’t stop the huff of laughter from leaving his lips. Neither of those were likely to happen, least of all… Miles didn’t want to talk to him, and why would he?
“Try,” the Captain insisted, like Miguel hadn’t already. He must have noticed the eyeroll. “He’s not beyond saving.”
Miguel focused on not tensing up his first and destroying the delicate metal between his fingers. It was still in good condition. He placed it in the box. “He doesn’t want to be saved.”
“Of course he does!” Thor boomed. “He’s but a child! Do not let his malice take hold!”
“It’s a little late for that,” he murmured.
“Nonsense!” Thor easily lifted him by the meat of his upper arms and spun him around. “It is never too late.” There was a strange hope in those blue eyes, a determination that shouldn’t be coming from a stranger. “You have to believe there is still good in him.”
Miguel couldn’t look him in the eye. “After everything he’s done…”
“Even if someone has done monstrous things,” Banner said, putting his gun away. “That doesn’t mean that’s who they are.”
“But you didn’t want the Hulk!” He shoved himself out of Thor’s hold. How could they speak on what they could not understand? The situation was completely different. “Miles… Miles wants this.”
“Does he?” Hawkeye asked.
“Why would he…” Took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. “If he didn’t want…?”
“When people are dealt a bad hand, sometimes they just need someone to reach out,” he shrugged.
“I’ve tried!” He growled, frustrated. “You just don’t get it!”
“You can only learn and grow with others,” Antman said, going through the mess in the middle of the lab and helping to discern the parts that were still good. “It’s easy to forget how much the people we surround ourselves with influence us.”
Miguel crouched to join him. “After everything I’ve taken from him–”
“You have to be better than who you were,” Ironman said, arms crossed. He still looked uncomfortable and more than pissed, but he didn’t look ready to kick Miguel to the streets. Maybe he should.
“All I’ve done is hurt him. He’s just returning the favor.” Miguel had a snapped circuit board pinched between his fingers, at least it wasn’t a hard part to replace.
Black Widow knelt down next to him. Her movements were slow, enough for even a normal human to back away from. Her hand landed softly on the crook of his elbow. “You’re the only one who can end that cycle,” she said.
All the words of encouragement were sweet in their own little ways, so heroic, so optimistic, so far removed from the truth of the matter. In a perfect world, maybe their advice could bear fruit, but that was not his reality.
He looked up at her, the still scabbing mess on his face clearly in her vision, the emptiness in his eyes. From here surely she could see. “My very existence brings him pain.” He returned the kindness, slowly moving to remove her hand from his elbow and holding it in his. “If you want to save him, kill me.”
Black Widow was not so mean as to snatch her hand back, but she let it slide out of his grasp.
“Put us both out of our misery,” he said.
Her lovely face is twisted in a grimace. He feels bad to have done that to her. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Isn’t it?” Something horribly like hope blossomed in his chest. “One life…” to save more people than he could reasonably count. Why hadn’t he thought of this sooner? Maybe because he always thought the only way to stop Miles was to be there to stop him. But he didn’t have to, did he? After all, to be Spiderman was to sacrifice.
“Hey,” Captain America’s stern voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “That’s not a real solution.”
Miguel glared at him. “But it is.”
“No.” He was having none of Miguel’s bullshit. “You don’t want to face him and you think death is your way out.”
“Because he won’t let me go!”
“So don’t let go.”
Miguel’s teeth ground together. “I know he’s young. I know you only see him as a child, but he is not a simple child seeking attention!” His cheek throbbed. “You haven’t seen what I’ve seen. You haven’t gone through what I have. That boy is beyond redemption!” He hated how his voice shook.
The Captain frowned. “No one is beyond redemption.”
Stupid paragon– “Even your Red Skull? A man commits heinous acts and doesn’t even think redemption is something he needs.”
“Even him.” He did not hesitate in his answer. “I arrest him and hope that within our justice system, he can find rehabilitation.”
Miguel laughed. “Rehabilitation? For a man that actively pursues genocide? You’re more delusional than I thought.”
He did not waver. “Everyone deserves the opportunity to better themselves. That applies to even the people I don’t think deserve it.” Heroes and their unshakable morals.
Miguel scoffed. “Then you're a better man than me.”
“That’s not a hard bar to cross,” Ironman snarked.
“Does your mouth ever stop running?” he snapped.
“I’ve been told–”
“Tony,” the Captain groused.
Ironman raised his hands in surrender and backed off. So the Ironclown could listen when he felt like it.
“This kid, Miles, he needs a therapist,” Captain America asserted. “And so do you.”
Miguel cringed. That was likely one of the few things he and Miles could agree on. But therapy was for the healthy well adjusted introspective people, none of which either of them were. He chuckled, but it was dry and humorless. “Probably.”
“Try. Please try. For him, for you, and for the multiverse,” he pushed. “That’s your solution.” How could a man so big and intimidating on the battlefield give off such comfort? His blue eyes bore deep into Miguel’s psyche, searching for something. Whatever it was, he pulled on it and Miguel couldn’t help but be drawn in with it.
“You’ll be ok.”
And for the first time in a while, Miguel believed those words. It was such a strange feeling. Logically, he knew they were woefully unprepared for Miles, but maybe… Something in his heart held onto the sliver of hope. This was what a real leader was supposed to be like. Maybe he should take notes.
Truthfully, he never felt much like the leader type. By order of operations and sheer necessity, Miguel had become the leader of the Society by default. It helped that he was footing the bill for the whole thing too. But as Spiderman 2099, he had always been a lone wolf. At the Society, he did more research and support work than actually leading the charge. But maybe that was just the difference between a back-end leader and a frontline one.
Miguel ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He grabbed the tablet out of the mess and scanned over his notes. He had to get out of here. Make a watch or really any kind of machine that could do universal travel. He just needed one jump. He didn't need to squeeze it down to fit on his wrist. He didn’t need to restrain himself to size. Maybe he could do this. He could figure this out. He had to. For all of their sakes.
School might not be for everyone, but learning was. Miles truly believed everyone enjoyed learning given the right method and setting. He loved learning new things, especially when it fueled his creativity. Learning the fundamentals of mechanical engineering and physics from Mr. Ohnn was a little boring, but the tinkering was fun.
Miles learned a lot from Mr. Ohnn, but some things they were learning together. Being villains were at the top of that list. Miles didn’t involve himself with the bad crowds when he was younger and Mr. Ohnn didn’t have much villainous experience either. Sure, if anyone saw their resume, there wouldn’t be any question of their ability, but they were lacking in certain departments. Killing Spiders? Good exercise. Building deadly gadgets? A fun night in. Collapsing universes? Just a regular Sunday. But thievery? They could use some work.
You’d think Miles would be better at it with the invisibility and the sticking to ceilings. On top of the fact Mr. Ohnn could teleport them anywhere inside the building, they should be undetectable. But that made them a little complacent. Getting in was never the problem, getting out never was either, but staying undetected was a whole different story.
Which was how Miles found himself back to back with Miguel fighting off wave after wave of Alchemex security while Mr. Ohnn scrambled to shove any interesting piece of tech into his portal. They were in a large open lab on one of the upper floors. There was a lot of tech lying around for them to take and it was taking a little longer than usual.
Suffice to say, it was fortunate they just gave Miguel his Spider steroids yesterday. He sliced through the armor of a goon and kicked him into a wall. The security team might not have focused so much on the plain clothes thief among a decidedly superpowered party if not for the fact that Miguel’s talons were out and slicing through any stray hand pointed his way.
Miles gave a dramatic gasp. “Miguel, so violent.” Even with his mask on, he made an equally dramatic face under it.
Miguel slammed a guy into the floor. “Not like you’re going to stop a bullet for me.” He tossed a chair at another one trying to get back up.
“I most certainly would!” Miles stabbed a guard in the neck.
“And lay around for a week just because neither of you deigned to save me from gunfire that isn’t to my chest or head? No thanks,” he snarled.
Miles got a good chuckle at the situation. It amused him to no end. It wasn’t even life or death for Miguel, he was just tired of being bedridden. He wasn’t going to complain about a little helping hand, especially not when it so obviously displeased Miguel to be helping them.
Miguel was smart enough to know escaping right now was impossible; no active collider for him to even dream of throwing himself through, so the man must have reasoned that he might as well get some exercise out of this trip. He slammed a security guard into the wall, knocking the poor guy unconscious. “What are we looking for anyway?” he asked.
Mr. Ohnn made a noncommittal sound. “Iunno.”
Miguel blinked at him harshly. “What does that mean?”
He shrugged.
“Don’t tell me this is how you normally do things.”
“Well, we don’t normally get spotted so early,” Miles said. “Your shoulders are too big for the vents.”
“The Spot can teleport you in!”
“I would need to know the layout of the building for that,” Mr. Ohnn clarified.
“You don’t?!”
“Uhh–” Mr. Ohnn said so very intelligently. To be fair, it has worked out for them so far. The only hiccup this time was Miguel.
“You don’t grab the floorplan?” Miguel ripped an AR out of a guy’s hands and whacking him with the end of it. Miles and Mr. Ohnn shot each other a faceless look over his shoulder. He spun around like a top giving them both an incredulous expression. “If you’re accessing their database, you could also take another step and get other security details, like access to doors, guard rotations,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
And it kind of was in a way. Hm. File that away for later.
“Seriously?” Miguel stressed. “You’re telling me, no mission, no plan, no forethought besides ‘iunno’.”
“Well,” Miles said, tossing a man out of the broken window. “When you put it that way.”
“How did–” Miguel’s hands waved furiously, “Tell me you put more effort into breaking into the Society.” He hurried to slam the last goon unconscious, before Miles could get his claws on him. Hmph. Ever the hero. Whatever, he could have this one.
“You’re a special case, Miguel.” Miles looked around the empty room to Mr. Ohnn still shoving unknown tech into his portal. Since they were clear for the moment, he would probably also want to get on a computer and see if they had any good data. “Also, I’ve been in that building before.”
Miguel ran a hand over his face. “But if you took steps to–” he huffed. “Nevermind. I should be–” his lips screwed shut.
“No, no, Miguel. Go on.” Miles clasped his hands together and pressed them against his masked cheek with a metal clunk. “Please do tell, what should I do to be a better bad guy?”
Miguel scowled, or more accurately, his scowl deepened. “It not– It’s about effectiveness and stealth.”
“Yeah no such thing as stealth with that bulk,” Miles waved generally at Miguel.
He rolled his eyes. “I can be.”
“You’re the reason we got caught.”
“Because of your inept planning.” Miguel heaved a sigh and adjusted his posture. “Stealth isn’t just walking around without being seen. Planning and training is how you achieve true stealth.”
“I’d like to remind you I can turn invisible.”
Miguel turned away shaking his head. It was funny how frustrated he got over their subpar thievery. But because it was Miguel, maybe it was more understandable that it was more about their ineffectiveness rather than the act itself. After all, vigilantism was a crime in most universes.
“Whatever, man,” Miles waved off. “You're huffing and puffing over nothing.”
Miguel shot an unimpressed look his way. “You think it’s something you do rather than something you are.” He held up his hand to stop himself from going on. “It doesn’t matter. Not my problem.”
That ticked Miles off. The man didn’t get to dismiss him like that. Sure, the tension between them was more of a simmer as of late, but that was no reason Miguel should think it was ok to talk to him like this. He squared his shoulders. “Run that by me again. I’m not your problem?”
“To the extent of your success in this particular field,” he said carefully.
Miles scoffed. “We’ve done perfectly fine without your input.”
Miguel backed off on that note, wandering to the otherside of the room. He looked over some documents on one of the desks, killing time while occasionally looking up at the door, expecting more security. They were both aware how long Mr. Ohnn could take.
“How much longer?” Miles asked.
“Give me a moment,” Mr. Ohnn responded, not looking up from the screen. He always said that. Miles wouldn’t mind so much if he didn’t already have an extensive backlog of blueprints, research, and data to go through. But like a hoarder he could never have too much.
Miguel approached Mr. Ohnn with a few pieces of paper. “Hey,” he said.
Whatever was on it, piqued Mr. Ohnn’s interest, grabbing it out of Miguel’s hand. He murmured to himself. “The energy efficiency of this…”
“Right,” Miguel didn’t even need him to finish his sentence. “The tech itself is rudimentary even in your time, but the conservation potential here is–”
Mr. Ohnn turned back to the computer. “Where did they put it?”
“You sure you didn’t shove it into one of your portals already?”
Mr. Ohnn had the awareness to sheepishly say, “Possibly.”
Miles scowled at the interaction. Nerds. And when did they get on such good terms? It wasn’t like he left them alone that often. It wasn’t a surprise Mr. Ohnn found common ground to talk to with Miguel. By nature he was a research fiend; his previous occupation was all he cared about until Miles came along. But he was suspicious of Miguel’s intentions. He wouldn’t put it past the man to try and use the connection to his advantage.
Miguel looked up from Mr. Ohnn’s fiddling to raise a brow at Miles’ quiet sulking. He glanced between the two of them, hesitating before waving him over.
Miles reluctantly obliged, more curious than anything else. He was just going over to tell them to hurry up. “Why are you encouraging him?” he asked.
Miguel shrugged. “Maybe this is more encouragement for you to actually listen to me.”
“Again with this?” Miles hissed.
“Hack their servers, figure out if what they’re working on is worth the effort, and execute,” Miguel pressed. “Would save you a lot of time, and save you from this.” He gestured vaguely to Mr. Ohnn hunched over the computer.
Miles sighed, wishing they were already on their way. “Then maybe I will consider it,” he grumbled. He turned towards the blueprint. It was labeled as some sort of large scale projector. He could read it relatively well enough, but couldn’t quite discern the interest Miguel or Mr. Ohnn showed it. Not like it was the device itself, but rather, as Miguel said, the energy whatever was more important.
Miles slid himself onto the table, kicking his feet as they dangled. Now that his curiosity was sated, he was bored again. With Mr. Ohnn too busy to explain anything, he’d much rather be back at the safehouse either tinkering or sleeping or– oh, getting a snack. Did Alchemex have a snack bar for employees? He looked up from his musing to see Miguel looking back. Weirdo.
“Hey,” Miguel said to Mr. Ohnn. “You grabbed a lot of materials, maybe you can just build it if you don’t already have it.”
Mr. Ohnn tapped his chin. “I could.”
“Great, so can we get out of here?”
A blur of red and blue flew through the window. “Hold that thought,” a familiar playful voice chirped.
Miguel froze. Horror eclipsing his previously dispassioned face. His body was tense, ready to bolt at any second. Where he would go no one knew, except Miles. The answer was nowhere. There was something amusing about the man being afraid of Spiderman in some capacity. Though, not for the reasons the masked hero might think.
Honestly, Miles wasn’t even in the mood to mess with a Spider, but he was always in the mood to mess with Miguel. And if the man was already on edge just by the mere presence of one, this might be worth their delayed departure.
“Mr. Man,” Miles greeted. “What a coincidence running into you here.”
The Spider tilted his head. “Mr. Man? That’s a first.”
“First name Spider, last name Man, am I right?”
He laughed. “Oh you’re a funny one! We don’t get that much around here.” This was probably another Peter Parker variant based on the demeanor; preppy, quippy, toeing the line of annoyance. Geez, there were certainly a lot of those running around. This one wasn’t a teenage Spider, definitely older. He had more ease in his shoulders.
Miles waved coyly at the compliment. “You think I’m funny?”
“Yeah! Now, why don’t you tell me what you guys are up to.”
Mr. Ohnn hadn’t even bothered to look up, already knowing the trajectory of this encounter. Miguel was the only one who’d hope for anything else.
This Spider didn’t recognize Miguel. Sure, he might not be as imposing as when they first took him, but he still had the same gaunt half dead eyes. The Spider must not be part of the Society. Miles wondered why.
Miguel looked like he was running a marathon in that stupid brain of his. As the seconds ticked by his anxiety grew. He squirmed where he stood, knowing doing or saying anything could set Miles off and turn the playful banter into violence.
“Stealing,” Miles said.
“I like the honesty! And I get that Alchemex has its fair share of questionable mega-corp decisions, but stealing from them is still bad,” the Peter said.
“You can’t be a little flexible here?”
“Hah! You’re a really funny little dude, kinda remind me of someone.” He threw his hands up placatingly. “And hey, I would have loved to look the other way,” his voice turned serious, dropping his hands, “but you killed people and I can’t ignore that.”
“Shame about those unshakable morals,” Miles grinned underneath his mask, pulling a throwing spike from his armband. “You could have lived.”
“Ooo you do a good threatening too!”
The squee of metal being crushed was practically an echo in the quiet room. Miguel’s knuckles were bone white. “Let’s just go,” he hissed. The slightest turn of Miles’ head had him ready to leap out of his skin. “Please.”
The spike of absolute glee might be more concerning if it didn’t feel so satisfying. Miles expected the man to squirm, but this was a wholly new delightful result. “What’s the rush, Miguel?”
Miguel was at a loss for words. He knew going to they ol’ reliable, ‘You don't have to do this’ only did more damage than anything else. “Please,” was the only miserable response he could logically come up with.
Miles was inclined to kill the Spider just to further upset the man, but he was not so petty, and meek was a good look on him.
“Listen, Miguel was it?” Spiderman piped up. “If you turn yourself in, I’ll put in a good word with the police captain.”
Miles ran his tongue over his teeth. Now, he wasn’t some animal. He wasn’t about to be set off by the mere mention of a police captain. But the hero shtick started to annoy him. “Oh, it’s not you he’s worried about.”
Miles did a trick spin with the spike and threw it at the Spider before he could open that snarky mouth. And they were off to the races. He grabbed another, holding it in a reverse grip as he stabbed at Spiderman, testing his defenses. Spiderman let him take charge of the tempo, waiting for him to tire himself out. That wasn’t going to happen.
Miles was thinner, shorter, scrawnier than Spiderman. In Spiderman’s eyes, he was a fresh villain on his first night out. It was a textbook template for an unfair fight. Compared to the veteran Spiderman, he was just a kid flailing with a toy.
Spiderman would underestimate him, especially one that didn’t recognize him as The Anomaly. It wasn’t a matter of if Miles could beat him, but when.
Miles threw out his spikes, all deftly dodged by Spiderman. They littered the room, one in the ceiling and a few in the walls and the floor. Even his normal combo of getting the Spiders in the air and caught at a bad twist was narrowly dodged, the spike only leaving a small tear in the pristine red and blue suit.
“Wow!” Spiderman said when he landed back in a crouch. “You’re really good with those.”
Miles’ brow twitched. “Not good enough apparently.”
“And it sinks into a metal wall like paper!” He said in a very Peter exclamation.”Who’s your supplier?”
“Your mom,” Miles readied a spike, calculating for it to hit Peter at the same time as his words. “Or should I say your aunt?”
Peter didn’t stumble, but it was a close thing, more importantly, it was a hesitation. That was all Miles needed for the spike to catch him just above the clavicle.
Game, set, match.
Miles stuck his hand out, his bioelectricity coated his hand. The blue lighting streaks pierced through Peter’s shoulder, jumping to all the spikes embedded in the walls. The spike acting as nodes surrounded Peter in an electrical cage. His victory sounded with the sharp scream of Spiderman.
There was never really any doubt. Miles could manage one Spider without difficulty; it was his specialty. He and Mr. Ohnn killed hordes of Spiders. What was a lone Spiderman to do against them?
A kick to Miles’ side sent his world spinning. He clattered into a desk, knocking both it and him sprawling to the floor. He whipped up to glare at the person who dared interrupt.
He was expecting Miguel, maybe another hero. He wasn’t expecting the lean figure that was practically all limbs. He wasn’t expecting the iconic Spiderman crouch. He wasn’t expecting the black and red suit nor the familiar, yet alien voice saying, “Mind if I cut in?”
Miles' brain stuttered to a halt. That wasn’t– Surely, not.
The other Spiderman took his frozen state as an opportunity to help Peter back to his feet. He must not recognize Miguel either because this one also did not see how deadly the situation he has put himself in. If he was smart, he would fling himself out the window. If either of them were smart, they wouldn’t be speaking quiet reassurances to each other.
There was so much he wanted to say. Instead, he coughed out a laugh. “No.” He turned away from the two Spiders. “No.” He stared at the mess littering the room. “No.” He waved his hands in front of his face as if that would erase the image of the two Spiders from his mind. “No.” He turned back around to see if they were really there. They were. “No. No. No.” A laugh bubbled out of his chest. “Are you–” Ha. “You’re kidding.” He giggled hysterically. “That’s not–” real. “He’s not–” me.
He turned at Miguel and Mr. Ohnn’s to get their take.
Mr. Ohnn was more focused on him. Occasionally the portal on his face flickered over to the pair of Spiders, but Miles ultimately held his attention. But he was stock still, shoulders straight, waiting to see if he needed to step in, if Miles would ask him to.
Miguel… Miguel’s face was drained of color. His mouth was agape, staring at the new Spiderman like it was his worst nightmare come to haunt him. And maybe it was. His left foot was a step back like the Spider’s mere presence struck him. Miles could hear the rapid ba-dum of his heart jackrabbiting in his chest. They probably all could, save for Mr. Ohnn.
Then his eyes flickered over to meet Miles’.
Oh. That wasn’t horror before. This was.
“You knew,” Miles said, a statement not a question.
“No, I–” Miguel’s breathing was erratic.
“Liar,” he hissed. The red light of his gauntlets activating filled the room. He stalked towards Miguel, just as he raised his fist, a web shot out to stop him.
“Don’t!” Miguel shouted.
The Peter, whose arm was outstretched despite his worn state, pulled Miles to his ass and dragged him away from Miguel.
Miles sat there for a second, trying to process. “I thought something was up when an in-his-prime Spiderman didn’t recognize you,” he said to Miguel. “So he didn't get an invite because he was vaguely related to me.” He tore the web from his gauntlet. “Everything I touch is shit, huh?”
“No, Miles!” Miguel tried. Both Spiders froze.
“He gets to be Spiderman.” Miles stepped forward.
“You could have been Spiderman!”
“You told me I wasn’t.” Another step.
“I shouldn’t have said that!”
“So he gets to keep his Peter but I had to watch mine die.” And another.
The two Spidermen flinch at his words, perhaps getting the picture now. If they were smart, they would run. Not smart enough. Curiosity killed the Spider. But they didn’t matter. That was never his, could never be his.
He was never meant to be Spiderman.
“Why?” Miles asked, standing in front of Miguel.
Miguel’s face strained. He was equal parts miserable and hesitant. He would rather death take him from this moment. But Miles would never let him. Nothing he said would be right. And he knew it. “You know why,” his quiet voice rang in Miles’ ears.
No, he really didn’t. He could surmise Miguel’s reasoning. These Spiders haven’t been touched by the multiversal issues plaguing the rest of the web, didn’t even seem to think that was a possibility. They were pure, they were still pure. The spider that bit this Miles Morales must have been from this universe. He wasn’t an anomaly. Becoming Spiderman was supposed to this Miles’ future.
It was not Miles’. Because he was an anomaly. The Anomaly. This one was not. So this one got to be Spiderman, to properly be Spiderman. And Miles did not. “Tell me, Miles,” he addressed his variant. “Is your father still alive?”
The variant stammered, hesitating, unsure of the correct answers to defuse the situation. And like the good boy he was, answered honestly, “Yes.”
Ha.
His fist connected with Miguel’s cheek, sending the man slamming into the opposite wall. The whip crack sound released the Spiders from their stupor. Both of them charge at him, putting themselves between him and Miguel. How typical, Spiders always chose his side.
Miles dodged their onslaught, only once they put him at a decent distance away did they stop their pursuit. Was that their soft heart showing? “You’re protecting him?” Miles snarled. “You don’t even know what he’s done to me.”
“I know you raised a hand against a man who so far hasn’t raised one against you,” Peter said. Oh so mature. Oh so stupid.
Miles retracted his mask, much to the shock of both Spiders. Even if they used context clues to deduce what was going on, the confirmation that there are other universes would surprise anyone. “He killed my dad.” His variant’s knees buckled, but he caught himself. He used the moment of shock to throw a punch.
Peter had the experience to dodge it. The man also had the experience to know not to pull out the spike or risk the potential blood loss, but unfortunately the inexperience to know better against The Anomaly.
Miles sent another burst of electricity into Peter. His limbs locked. He threw another spike at the man’s heart. It was webbed to the wall before it could hit its target. He stopped his charge to duck under a punch. Peter collapsed to his knees.
His variant squared up, standing tall and proud in a suit of similar design to his old Spider suit. It brought a sneer of disgust to his face.
“Don’t be mad because you don’t have my flow,” his variant so foolishly said. It was kind of cute how stupid this version of him was. Stupid like he used to be.
“Keep it, I was weaker with it.” He slashed at him with his claws, engaging in a close quarters brawl. He punched and his variant managed to dodge, so he opened his hand to slash down, slicing across his chest.
This version of him was slower, weaker. He would die in that suit, in a meaningless fight over an insignificant theft of a shady mega corp. He stood for a moment charging up the bioelectricity in his arm. Amateur. He threw a punch Miles easily caught. Pathetic.
Miles drained the electricity from him. “Take notes, maybe they’ll help you in the next life.” The variant couldn’t protect himself from a full frontal punch to the face, sending him into the wall across the room and falling unconscious.
Miles took only one step before Peter knocked him over. He twisted to land on his feet.
The spike that was embedded in Peter’s shoulder clattered to the ground. “You don’t have to do this, Miles.”
He grinned. “Is that a Spiderman special? You have no idea how many times I’ve heard that. And I’ll tell you exactly what I say every single time, I’m finally doing exactly what I want.”
“That can’t be true,” Peter continued to fruitlessly try. “The Miles I know– You wouldn’t do this.”
Miles raised his gauntlets to stare at Peter through the fingers of the red holo claws, the blood running down his palms. “I’m not him. I’m nothing like him.”
“This is wrong, Miles!”
“I know. But if they were right, I’d rather be wrong.” He lowered his hand. “I’m sorry, Peter.” And he felt that genuinely. Maybe this man would have done right by him. Maybe he would have been just the same as the rest of them. “I know you had nothing to do with them or with what happened to me.” His eyes hardened. “But he wants you to live, and I will deny him everything.”
Peter was ready for him to launch himself forward. He was slippery, hard to hit. His hands were quick, fast jabs and smooth diversion of Miles’ heavier hits. But he was holding himself back. That foolish softness was going to kill him. He pulled his punches. Miles was not.
At least it wasn’t as one sided as Miles’ fight with his variant. Blocking with his claws made Peter’s hits feel more like pats. It did not help that he was worn down by the stab wound and two rounds of electricity.
Peter Parker was slowing. Even in his prime, that slowness, the softness, that hero in him that wanted to ‘save’ Miles converged together here to have him lose.
Miles vanished.
Peter’s head was on a swivel looking out for him. Ready for him. A spark. A tingle. A warning. He snapped to catch– A spike in the wall sparking with a familiar blue. There was an impact against his stomach. He looked down at the puncture and blood flowing down an invisible arm.
Miles’ invisibility faded.
Poor Peter. His eyes were so sad, heartbroken. His mouth open, but no words came out. He staggered back. Miles’ claws came free with a wet squelch. He held his hands over the wound but it wouldn’t save him. He fell. Blood pooled under him.
“Peter!”
His variant. A window into what could have been. That weakness. That helplessness. That inability to save those he cared for. Disgusting. Miles didn’t miss that. He faced his window. Time to close the curtains. He hadn’t even taken a step when a fist knocked him off course. He was getting tired of this.
Miguel stood in front of him. Blocking his path to his variant. His face was set in determination, but there was a hint of unease. No words were said. What could he say that Miles hadn’t heard before. Instead, “Get out of here, kid,” he said to the variant.
“Not without, Peter!” Still trying to be the hero. His variant didn’t realize he was already dead when he chose to speak over run.
Miguel realized that as well. Any resemblance of hope drained from him. There was nothing he could do. He already used the one element of surprise he had. “Please,” he said, perhaps to one, but applicable to both Miles.
Miles, every version of him, must have stubbornness built into their foundation. He would try to get his Peter back and by the time he realized he couldn’t, he would die with him.
“You can’t save him,” Miles said.
“I can try.” Miguel might actually believe those words, believed that he could.
Miles will show him otherwise. “And you will fail. Now, kneel.”
Miguel was dragged to his knees and the muzzle snapped over his mouth. “Miles!”
Miles dodged a wild electrified right hook from his variant appearing out of thin air at his side. He dodged under it, sweeping a leg out and watching his variant fall. He climbed over him, ripping a spike from his armband and stabbing him once in the chest. Voices rang in his ears, but words did not register. None of it mattered. Nothing mattered besides the Spiderman underneath him fighting back for dear life, struggling in his web. He raised the bloodied spike and plunged it back in his chest.
The limbs under him flailed. The struggle was futile. Why did he bother? Did he not see? Heroes were weak. Did he see? Death was his only outcome. He plunged his spike into his chest again. Spiderman had a tremor underneath his hands. The hits against him that tried to shove him off weakened.
Again.
Miles placed a hand on his masked cheek. It was wet. A fabric mask. How quaint. Little Spider. So Inexperienced.
Again.
It was not Spiderman’s destiny to die by his hand, but that didn’t matter.
“Miles.” Mr. Ohnn stood above him. Inky black ooze bubbled on the scratch his claws left.
Oh. Perhaps he got a little carried away.
Miguel refused to look up from the spot on the floor between his cuffed hands. He trembled like a cold kitten. Ha.
He looked down at the mess he made.
The window laid beneath him shattered into pieces. Cold to the touch. The red surrounding him was not the glow of his claws. Bits of broken glass strewn around him. Pieces dug into his skin. His hands moved stiffly, a poor attempt to keep them from sinking in further. But that didn’t matter so much. Most importantly, he no longer had to peer through it and see what could have been.
Miguel once adored the thrill of being Spiderman. Miguel O’ Hara was surrounded by hardship and trauma, but Spiderman was free; nothing but the crisp, slightly polluted air of Nueva York and the tug of gravity. Spiderman was a hero, a protector, a symbol. It had been so simple to forget all the struggles of Miguel O’ Hara when he put on that mask. It felt good.
But there was still a man behind that mask. A man who fell folly to what many before him have; trying to live up to expectations. Spiderman was a hero; of course he wanted to make the city a better place. Spiderman was a protector; of course he would defend the Great Web from the anomalies that threatened to destroy it. Spiderman was a symbol; he had to be someone people rallied behind.
But Miguel O’ Hara was just a man who spread himself too thin. Sleepless nights slaving away in his lab, developing the next tool to either deal with the anomalies or the tears in space they left behind. Skipped meals because there was always something that needed his attention, and when he did get a chance to eat it, they were quick things that were easy to shovel in his mouth. His eyes constantly ached from the orange glow of his monitors and followed him when he closed his eyelids for whatever short nap he managed to sneak in.
To be Spiderman was an honor, a responsibility few could live up to.
Being Spiderman ate him alive.
There was no balance between Spiderman and self. Too many people relied on Spiderman-2099, and Miguel… Well, the people who used to rely on Miguel O’ Hara didn't anymore.
There was no more ‘thrill’ in being Spiderman, only the arduous weight of sacrifice. He just had hoped it would only be his sacrifice and not the people around him. He should have known better. Things never went the way he wanted.
It was a cold night in this particular New York. No one and nothing to keep him company at this odd 4 AM in Central Park besides his thoughts. No stars, not in this New York. Not in most. The moon drifted away from him, rapidly approaching the west to set and let the sun rise.
Funny to think he was finally without work, yet still, very reasonably, sleep did not come easy to him. Miles and the Spot have been dragging him across the multiverse for over a month already. They were anomalies in more ways than one. Miguel couldn’t have imagined that between the two of them, he'd have more of a rapport with the Spot than the sweet kid Peter B used to gush about. Yet here was was, nursing aging wounds from Miles that were tended to by the Spot.
Miguel never imagined being in this scenario in the first place. He always thought that if one of his nemeses were to get revenge on him, he would face a healthy sprinkle of torture until death, but… but not like this. He expected physical torture and the mental toll would simply be the result of that, but this was almost the opposite. Miles meticulously planned out every collapse of a universe, every murder of a Spider, all for him to watch; the beatings were almost an afterthought.
Miguel would take any amount of hits if it meant he never had to hear the shrill chorus of death again, if it meant he never had to feel the violent vibrations as the air struggled to hold itself together, never had to watch the sky scream in flashing colors, or the ground shake as it caved to the inevitable.
Miguel would easily choose to take their place if it meant his Spiders didn’t have to face the cruel end of Miles’ claws, if it meant they had a chance to stand against him, to never see the way their bodies fell after giving their all and still losing, or see the way Miles turned to him with glee in his eyes and their blood splattered against his baby round cheeks, or way the blood ran from their cooling corpses and sunk between the small divots in the concrete, an infection never able to be fully removed because it seeped into every pore and pebble and how could anyone even dream of being rid of it.
IF HE COULD GET THE RED OUT FROM BEHIND HIS EYES.
If Miguel could just save them, he wouldn’t mind the eternal limbo between life and death. But he didn’t get that choice.
Pain radiated from his palms. He unclenched his fists and retracted his talons. He exhaled a shaky breath. He sat quietly on the wooden park bench. A lone lightpost a few yards from him gave off a soft glow. It didn’t quite reach him.
Should Miguel have done nothing? Should he have let be the universal distortion he discovered all those years ago? If he let those first few universes fall, would they be where they were now? Would those sacrifices have lessened the losses they have now? If he never picked up a long dead mantle would all those universes still remain? If George O’ Hara took his beating too far, would the multiverse be better off?
Maybe.
Or maybe it would have all gone to shit anyway.
What was Miguel even doing here? There were so many other things he could be doing, but here he was doing absolutely nothing. He looked up at the skyline, just making out the Oscorp building in the distance, a major tech giant in most universes. Maybe. Maybe not. His eyes fell back down to his lap. The blood from his palms stained his sweatpants. He looked back up to the skyline, at the blackened silhouette of the skyscrapers.
“It’s past your curfew.” Miles appeared from out of the shadows on the opposite side of the bench.
“I thought I only had a cage.” Miguel didn’t even turn to look at him.
“No, you have a leash too and I opted to make it a little longer today.”
Because that was all he was to them; a pet. Even that was a stretch. Miguel was their toy, to push and pull, to beat and drag through the dirt as they pleased. He sighed. “What are you doing here, Miles?”
“Just wanted to see what our ‘ol mittens got up to.”
“You got a tracker on these things,” he lifted up a cuffed hand. “Could have just stayed at the apartment.”
“Sure, but you could be scheming.”
No, he wasn’t. “And? You can’t cage my mind.”
Miles saw it as a challenge. “Says who?”
“Says you. A lobotomy would defeat my purpose here, wouldn’t it?”
The boy scoffed and crossed his arms. “Whatever, man,” he conceded. He leaned against the bench and followed Miguel’s sightline to Oscorps’ logo. “So you have been planning your great escape.”
Miguel tried it many times, put up a fight even more, but these damned cuffs. Even when they gave him a full dose of his serum, he was still at their mercy. Scratch, claw, tear, no matter how beserk Miguel went, Miles would tell the Spot to stay out of it. No matter how battered, bruised, or bloodied Miles got, they fought until either collapsed. The kid was testing himself and he was getting better, but so was Miguel.
“You can’t keep me here, Miles. It’s only a matter of time.” If they wanted to treat him as a pet, so be it. He was a jaguar pacing its enclosure, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Miles huffed. “I’ll let you cook.”
Miguel’s nose scrunched. “What?”
The confusion transferred over to Miles, confused at Miguel’s confusion. “What?”
“Cook?”
“Like… you’re cooking?”
“Where– There’s–” Miguel looked around. “We’re not in a kitchen.”
“Like coming up with a plan and doing it well.” Miles sounded confused at his own explanation, or rather that he had to explain at all.
This only confused Miguel further. “But how does cooking…?”
Miles gave him a strange look of disbelief. “Like getting ingredients and putting it together to make something delicious, I guess. Cook.”
“Oh,” Miguel said, finally nodding in understanding. “Like ‘dev.’”
Miles blinked furiously at him. “Dev?”
“Like ‘who has the devs’ or ‘you’re dev.’”
“You’ve explained nothing.”
Miguel struggled to come up with an answer. It was like talking to his abuela. How do you explain such a 2099 colloquialism to… someone from the early 2000s. This was why he did his best to keep his language plain and devoid of any slang back at the Society. “It basically means plan. So ‘who came up with the plan’ or ‘you’re in charge’.”
Miles scoffed. “Who comes up with this stuff?”
“Probably the same sort of people who came up with cook.”
Miles snorted. “Was that a joke?”
“I don't do jokes.”
“That kinda sounded like a joke to me.”
Miguel heaved a sigh. What was the point in arguing with the kid over something so trivial? He spent enough energy actually fighting him. “Do you really need to do this?”
“Do what?”
“Goad me into an argument.” His eyes trailed back to the looming building of Oscorp.
“Why not?”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to kill me and be done with it? Move on to other things?”
“For you maybe.”
“You don’t think it would be better for your mental health to be rid of me?”
“That would imply I’m not doing exactly what I want to be doing.” So Miles has previously said. Questioning him was like walking in circles.
Miguel leaned back, chin tilted up towards the black night sky. “I see through your facade, Miles. Trying to play off your playful violence for something it’s not.”
“What’s that?”
“Power. Control.”
Miles was coiled tight standing over him. “Are you saying I have neither?”
“I am.” He closed his eyes and let the chill press against his cheeks. “You have strength but are weak, and call it power. You chain me down and put a collar around my neck and call it control. But it’s not.”
“Then what–”
“Hey,” a distant voice called out, too deep to be the Spot.
Miguel cracked an eye open.
Miles snapped to look at the offending figure walking up to them.
“You guys look like you’re having fun.” His face was obscured in the darkness of the hoodie pulled over his head.
Miles crossed his arms. “What’s it to you?”
“Nothing, I was just wondering if you wanted to have some more fun.”
Miles took a step back. His face filled with skepticism and a hint of disgust. “I don’t know man. Sounds kind of weird.”
“No! Nothing weird! I got all sorts of fun things. Anything you need, my man. Amps, tabs, special k, blow, you name it, I got it.”
“Blow?” Miguel asked incredulously. “What year are we in?”
“Whatever year you want it to be, my friend.”
Miguel rolled his eyes. “Not interested.”
“What about you, little man?”
“No,” Miguel answered for Miles before he could even think not to. His captor leveled him with a look, but seemed more interested in seeing how this played out. “He’s a minor,” he tacked on rather lamely.
“And that’s what makes drugs not ok?” Miles raised a brow at him.
“No,” Miguel ran a hand over his face. “I just meant that… It’s worse.”
“Oh, you mean it makes it extra illegal.” Miles brightened as the exasperation grew on his face.
“Sure.”
The guy waved them off. “Ah, that’s just what the man tells you. A lot of things that were illegal aren’t illegal now and vice versa.”
Miles tilted his head back at Miguel in a way that meant he was taking none of this seriously. “He’s got a point.” He grinned. A sickeningly familiar mirth. Miguel was just here for his entertainment, his suffering was his entertainment. To struggle was to feed into that. But still…
“He does not,” Miguel deadpanned. “It’s a false equivalency.”
Why was he even trying to protect this kid? Miles didn’t need him to save him from some shady, and quite frankly bad, drug dealer. Hell, given his history and his situation, Miles was the one who should be making sure he didn’t get tempted by the cloying promise of blissful oblivion.
Now that he thought about it…
No. Never again.
“I just want to have a little fun,” the dealer said. “First ones free.” Wow, this guy was bad at his job. That was such an old tactic to get people hooked on drugs. It was so obvious. Maybe this guy was being complacent because they hadn’t yet called the police.
“Ooo,” Miles cooed, drawn in by the promise of free things. Oh, you got to be kidding–
Ah, that was it. He was still just a kid.
“No,” Miguel said.
“I mean, it’s free and you never know, maybe we’ll–”
Miguel shot up out of his seat. “No, absolutely not.”
“Aw come on, he’s old enough to make his own decisions,” the pendejo dared to say.
“He’s a minor!”
Miles bristled. The playfulness left his features, replaced by a scowl. Miguel didn’t care if he hated being called anything close to a kid; he was. He was a kid and there was no way Miguel was going to let this creep anywhere near him.
The guy waved it off. “Ah, that doesn’t matter nowadays. How old are you, kid?”
“It’s none of your business,” Miguel stepped forward, shoving Miles behind him.
“I mean you’re being a bit of a hypocrite. You were blasted out of your mind.”
“I was not.”
“What else would you be doing in a park at 4 in the morning?”
“I’m telling you to back off.”
“Ok, maybe you do need some free samples because you gotta chill, man,” the man so stupidly pressed.
“I said no!” He loomed over the man. His eyes glowed a dangerous red. His talons peeking out from his skin. His nerves were on edge and his short patience was worn. He bared his fangs and snarled. “I won’t repeat myself again.”
The man tried to shove Miguel away, but he might as well have been a brick wall. “What the fuck?”
Miguel grabbed him by the collar of his jacket. “Maybe I do the world a favor, get some drugs off the street and a guy who doesn’t understand the meaning of no.”
“Fucking freak, let go of me!”
“Is that really the language you want to use right now?” He flashed his extended talons in front of the quivering man’s face.
Fear overtook anger. “I-I’m sorry! I’ll go! I’ll go! Just let me go!” Miguel scoffed and basically dropped him. He hadn’t realized he pulled the man up closer towards him. He tripped, landing hard on his ass before scrambling away from them.
Both he and Miles watched the man run off the way he came.
“That was very unfriendly of you,” Miles said.
“He’s alive, isn’t he?” Miguel sighed and ran a tired hand over his eyes. “Let’s just go back to the apartment.”
Miles shrugged and followed Miguel as they walked towards the exit. The silence between them grew. The Spot wasn’t here to interject with something dumb for them to comment on and Miles’ taunting playfulness evaporated. They passed by a large fountain as they left, from here it would take… far too long to get back. If he had his suit he could just swing back, unfortunately that was practically a dream at this point. He turned to walk towards the subway.
“I can make my own choices,” Miles said eventually.
Miguel blinked at him. “That much is very clear.”
“I don’t need you talking for me.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You did.” Miles stopped walking. “And we could have taken the freebies! I’m sure Mr. Ohnn could have found a use for them.”
“You know he’s not an actual doctor, right?” If anything, drugs were a little closer to Miguel’s field of study.
“I’m just saying, they were free!”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
“I just wanted to get us away from that guy.”
“It’s not him I was worried about.”
“What? Scared of some pills?”
Miguel sighed. “Not all of them are pills,” was all he could think to say.
“If you were that worried about it, then you should have just killed him!”
Miguel rubbed his temples. “Dealers are the lowest rung in the ladder and are often victims of addiction too. Killing him wouldn’t have changed anything.”
Miles scoffed, annoyed at the lecture. “I just don’t get why you were acting like he had a bomb.”
“Miles, I know what that stuff can do.” Miguel said plainly. “It ruins lives.”
“I know that!” Of course, he did. His dad had been a cop and his mother a nurse.
“I was an addict.” Not of his own volition, but Miles didn’t need to know the details. “Technically, still am because of the serum.”
“Oh.” Miles fidgeted. Perhaps uncomfortable with the revelation, not that Miguel understood why; Miles knew of his regular serum doses. Perhaps because it boosted his powers it didn’t seem much like an addiction. And it wasn’t like he could really do much with this information in way of torture.
Miguel shrugged and gestured for Miles to get moving. They still had about an hour commute to get back to the apartment. Joy. “You can go ahead. Trains run really infrequently at this time.”
Miles hummed, acknowledging the suggestion, but still followed behind Miguel until they stood at the entrance to the subway. He activated his gauntlets and stuck a hand out towards the skyline. “No scheming,” he said, playfulness returning to his voice.
Miguel rolled his eyes. He took one step down before pausing. So did Miles. “Oh,” he said. “And don’t do drugs, not unless you want to become like me.”
“Alone, powerless, and miserable.”
“And about to brave the stench of the New York subway for over an hour.”
Miguel was used to pain. George O’Hara beat him, his brother, and their mother. Everyone in the house were victims, but Miguel got it worse. His father’s rage against him lasted longer, hits landed harder. He could only pray that by the time George was done with him, he would be too tired to move onto his brother or mother. At some point, bruises became a permanent affixation to his aesthetic.
Maybe George could see what he could not. That Miguel wasn’t really an O’Hara.
When his father died, it should have been all sunshine and rainbows. But there were more problems in their lives than just a man that liked to hit the people who were supposed to be his family.
School was not the problem. He was a smart kid; kept his head down, kept his grades up. His future was secure. That should have been enough for his family, for his mother. Yet she looked at him like he was something else. She said he was selfish and maybe he was. He must have gotten it from her. He hooked up with his brother’s girlfriend because he just couldn’t help himself. But they were young and dumb and so in love that they even got engaged. Down the line, he apologized profusely to Gabriel and begged for his forgiveness. He didn’t deserve it, but Gabe gave it to him anyway.
And Miguel ultimately ended it with Dana. After all the pain and strife his family put into that relationship, he couldn’t make it last.
Miguel was selfish, but that wasn’t it. That wasn’t the only reason his mother looked at him with those eyes, like- like he was other . He was her mistake. He was a mistake. And that was why he could only ever make mistakes.
Working at Alchemex was a mistake. It should have been the best company to work at, financial security was guaranteed. Certainly one of the most powerful, but that came with corruption running rampant throughout it. And thinking it wouldn’t affect him was another mistake.
Talking with Tyler Stone was a mistake. Trusting Tyler Stone was a mistake. But what could he say? Miguel was accustomed to abuse at the hands of father figures even if he hadn’t been aware of it at the time.
Now he lived a life of his own self inflicted addiction to his Spider serum, needing regular doses to maintain his genetic structure. Splicing his DNA was rash, but it saved his life. But he wouldn’t have needed to if he had just been careful. It was a mistake. Another one to add to his books.
Miguel thought that starting the Spider Society and uniting those across the great web could be the one thing he got right. A group there to fix the tears in space-time and help each other when they needed it. It should have been his shining achievement. But it was a mistake just like all the rest.
If Miguel never started the Spider Society, none of this would have happened. Gwen’s father, Peter B’s MJ, Gabriella, all these universes, all those Spiders, none of it would be gone . Miles would have never known the truth. The universe would have adjusted, might have gone on to make Miles a true Spiderman even though everything that happened was an anomaly.
There was a running theme here. Every time Miguel tried to make something better, he just made it worse
Mistakes. Mistakes on mistakes. Everything Miguel did was a mistake.
Miles was his mistake. It was in part, if not entirely, his fault that Miles had become more monster than boy. And he had to keep reminding him of that even when sometimes Miles was more boy than monster. Especially at times when–
“I’m so hungry,” Miles complained, holding his stomach while he rolled around on the couch of their newly instated safehouse in this universe they jumped to.
They were in a seedier part of town where people knew better than to question the strange looking man in a weird white and black spotted costume. They didn’t have to know it was actually skin.
The apartment matched the area. Dingy and kinda gross, but no one would bother them. All the furniture was stolen and rent was dirt cheap. These were the places that Miguel hated the most. It meant they didn’t intend to stay long, it wasn’t a permanent safehouse. Another universe Miles and the Spot intended to collapse. Another fight where he could do nothing to save anyone.
Miguel had tried in the last one and Miles had not been joking when he said to put a muzzle on him. The new nanotech chip on the back of his neck replaced his suit and would become a cage muzzle, because a plain mask wasn’t humiliating enough. Stripped of any power and dignity, Miguel was left with his indignation.
“What do you guys want to eat?” Miles asked.
“I’m good with anything,” the Spot said.
“Miguel?”
Miguel just glared at him from the loveseat in the corner. His arm still recovering from the beating Miles gave him nearly a week ago, he was not in the mood to humor his playfulness.
Miles rolled onto his stomach. “Come on, man. You’re not hungry?”
“Forgive me if I’ve lost my appetite,” he ground out.
“Well, doubt you’ll have it later.” Miles shot to his feet. “Let’s go to the city. See what they have.”
“Have somewhere in mind?” the Spot asked.
“You sure you don’t have a preference?”
The Spot shook his head.
“Miguel?”
A low growl was his only response.
That only seemed to amuse Miles even more. “Maybe, we get chinese? They probably have something easy for your stomach.”
“So Chinatown?”
“Yup. Ready, Miguel?”
He grunted, but still stood.
“Don’t fall on your face this time,” Miles teased.
“I never–”
A hole opened up underneath them and Miguel just barely stayed on his feet. Those little– “Seriously?”
Miles laced his fingers behind his head and walked down Canal street. “I thought that was a yes grunt, not a no grunt.”
“This is why we’ve been telling you to use your words,” the Spot piled on. “But Mr. Grumpy only wants to talk to us through his teeth.”
Miguel reluctantly followed them. “Right, because it’s so unreasonable for me to be taciturn with my captors.”
Miles spun on his heels and grinned at the two of them. “And sarcasm, don’t forget the sarcasm.”
“You expect me to act any differently?”
“I think you're acting exactly as you should.”
What the fuck was that supposed to mean? “You're exactly as irritating as I remember you being.”
That wiped the smug smirk off the brat’s face. “Careful, Miguel. Wouldn’t want to piss me off.”
“And here I thought I couldn’t piss you off anymore than I already do, Miles.”
“Alway room for growth.”
“We can bicker at the dinner table,” the Spot interjected. “Where are we eating?”
Miles fell into pace besides the Spot. “Do we have connection yet?”
“I set it up earlier,” he said, pulling out a phone from one of the many pockets of his cargo shorts. “Yeah, you should have internet access.”
Miles raised a gauntlet to search up ‘Chinatown soup’. “Ooo, soup dumplings.” He tapped on the address and a little map popped up. They walked down the main street, following Miles, who diligently followed the map until a warm sweet aroma wafted through the air. Immediately, he detoured off the path to a metal cart selling sweet bubble waffles.
“We’re about to eat,” Miguel pointed out.
Miles fished cash out of his bag “And? We have enhanced metabolisms.”
“Not right now I don’t.” It had been a while since they gave him his serum dose.
“One isn’t going to ruin your appetite.”
“I don’t want one.”
“Well now you’re definitely getting one.”
Miguel put his hands on his hips. “I don’t think reverse psychology is supposed to work in this situation.”
Miles gestured for 3 orders and handed the old man behind the window five dollars. “It’s not about that. It’s about whatever I want, and I want you to eat one.”
Miguel glared at the paper bag he was handed as if the sweet treats inside were his enemy. They smelled delicious and he felt the warmth penetrating through the thin bag. It was tempting. But call him paranoid, he couldn’t help but think this was some sort of mental manipulation. Or petty, because he really didn’t want to listen to Miles.
As they continued on their way to the restaurant, Miles and the Spot snacked on their waffles. Miguel didn’t understand, the Spot had no mouth, yet tossed bubble after bubble into the void on his face. How did he even eat? Was that actually his mouth or like a portal to his stomach? Well, it wouldn’t be wise to have an open access to his stomach.
“You going to eat that?” Miles asked.
“What? No.” Miguel tried handing it off.
“I don’t want it.” Miles bounced back on his heels.
He then tried handing it to the Spot.
The Spot shook his head. “Gotta watch the waist line.”
Miguel returned to scowling at the innocent pastries.
“Don’t waste it,” Miles said. “Your momma didn't raise no food waster.”
“What do you know about my mother?” he scoffed. But he was right, she didn’t. He ate one. It was still a bit warm. It was soft and pillowy and just the right amount of sweetness. It was delicious.
“You’re going to ruin your appetite,Miguel,” Miles said, scandalized.
Miguel rolled his eyes and kept eating. Regardless of the childish bait, his mother did not in fact raise a food waster.
There was a scream up ahead. All heads turned in that direction. They were off the main street, which might explain why the man running towards them felt comfortable enough to snatch the purse of the woman chasing after him.
Miguel instinctually stepped forward with the intent to stop him, but Miles was further in front.
“Seriously?” Miles stuck out his foot and tripped the man, causing him to fall flat on his face. “In broad daylight?” He sat on him as the woman jogged up to them.
“Thank you,” she said, panting for air.
Miles handed back her bag. “You're welcome. Wanna file a police report? We can wait with you.”
The woman’s brows creased with uncertainty, her hands coming up, probably about to say no until the man squirming underneath Miles decided to open his stupid mouth.
“Come on. I didn’t even take anything!”
Then her face morphed into disgust and set in determination. “Yes, I would like that very much.”
“Bro!” The man started thrashing in earnest, trying to buck Miles off. “What are they feeding you?”
Miles grinned. “Spiders.”
Miguel grimaced at the bad taste in humor.
“Got something to say?”
Miguel crossed his arms. “Just call the cops, ma’am.”
The young lady seemed a bit put off by the use of the title but pulled out her phone regardless. She spoke quietly to the operator.
“Listen, kid. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t call me that,” Miles snapped.
“Sorry, man! It was a lapse in judgment!” He pleaded. “It won’t happen again!”
Miles hummed. “Sure it won’t.”
“I’m serious! My family needs the money!”
“I bet. But you were just begging to be caught.”
“No! I was desperate!”
“Stupid more like. In broad daylight, in a relatively busy area, running straight at three dudes.” Miles was right, especially when there was potentially a Spiderman swinging around.
A pair of cops turned the corner. How uncharacteristically quick of them. Well, like Miles said, the man wasn’t really thinking; broad daylight and only down the street from a busy intersection.
The thief tossed and thrashed about trying to dislodge Miles, but it was a futile attempt. Miguel could relate. “Fuck off, kid!” Oh, that was a mis–
Miles slammed the man's head into the concrete.
Miguel could relate to that too. He turned away to watch the woman approach the officers. She spoke with them as they came closer.
“Miguel,” Miles said, getting up from the cursing thief, who was swiftly placed in handcuffs. “Finish your snack.”
Miguel looked down at the slightly cooled waffle pieces and frowned. It surely wouldn’t be as good now. Still, he ate without complaint. The Spot stared at him unabashedly. “What?” he asked.
The Spot shrugged. “Nothing.”
Miguel hated this, hated feeling stuck between them. Miles was manic and volatile. The Spot was awkward and enigmatic. He first thought the Spot would be the heinous one, egging Miles on and whispering dark things in his ear. But it was the opposite. The Spot was the practical one, telling Miles when to take a break or if a plan was too reckless. Sometimes he would just sit there and… watch… silently. It was weird and off putting and Miguel never knew what to think of the villain. And Miles… Miles was a different beast altogether.
Miguel tried to escape multiple times. Clearly, none of them successful, but every time Miles dished out a cruel form of punishment for trying. The beatings were the easiest to take. He fought back, he always did, but perhaps they were taking their toll on him mentally, more than he anticipated. He fought back, but it felt almost like an obligation rather than real effort. Escape felt so out of reach. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try.
Sometimes Miles was crueler. Sometimes he would bring a civilian inches from death and make them beg Miguel for their lives. Other times he would jump to a new universe and bring New York to its knees. He has not yet brought them to another Nueva York. He might be waiting for just the right reason to punish Miguel like that again…
And then there was the odd punishment of simply seeing Miles. Punishment was perhaps not the right word, but it felt like it. Seeing Miles just be… a kid, seeing the kid Miles could have been– should have been, felt… He should have been a boy rather than a monster, but he wasn’t, and that was in large part Miguel’s fault. And that felt bad .
It felt wrong. Miguel spent his life fighting monsters. He did his best to protect everyone from them. And yet– What he is now is all you, Miguel .
Miguel sucked his teeth in frustration.
Miles quirked a brow in his direction. “What’s got your pants in a grump?”
Miguel looked at him incredulously. “Pants in a grump?"
“Grumpy pants, but different.”
“What?”
“Ah, you wouldn’t get it.” He whipped around. “Hey, lady! You good?”
“Yes! Thank you so much” She smiled at him and nodded towards Miguel and the Spot.
“Sure,” Miles couldn’t help but return the awkward smile.
More boy than monster. Miles had been a good kid just trying his best. He was left with a great responsibility on his shoulders. He hadn’t been perfect, a little awkward (but not like Miguel could talk), but he was good. He stood with her as the police took her statement. He gave a reassuring thumbs up whenever she would look his way.
Miguel huffed a small chuckle. “Still that friendly neighborhood Spiderman,” he murmured.
The Spot’s head snapped to look at him, followed by an incredulous scoff.
Miles stilled and pinned him with a stare. “Wanna repeat that?”
Shit.
Miles could taste the anxiety rolling off him. “I know it was posed as a question, but that wasn’t a request.”
He licked his lips as his mouth suddenly became dry. “Miles.”
“Miguel.”
“I didn’t mean–”
“No. Go on.”
“I don’t think that’s–”
“You're stalling.”
“I’m not,” he hissed. “I just thought–” He sucked in breath. “For as much as you call yourself a villain, you still have that spark of Spiderman.”
Miles tilted his head. “I never was though, right, Miguel?”
“Miles.” He should have never worded it like that, but he had let his anger and frustration get the better of him. But realizing that now, would not change the course either of them were on. “It doesn’t have to be this way.”
“But it’s how I want it to be.”
“Miles,” he growled.
Miles turned back to the woman. “You’re done here, right? You should leave.”
“O-oh.” She looked between them nervously. “Alright.” She asked the officers if she was done giving her statement and once she got the nod of confirmation she thanked them before scurrying out onto the main road.
“Do you need to take our statements too, officers?” Miles asked.
“Miles, don’t,” Miguel hissed.
The officers approached them.
“Miles! I’m serious.”
“So am I. Don’t forget who’s in charge here.”
“Miles–”
“Correct!”
The officers were blind to Miles' intentions. They see the good natured teen that helped a woman get her purse back from a runaway thief. They do not see the potential he has. They do not see the violence that pumped through his heart. The foolish sheep walked into the maw of the beast.
Miles' claws activated. They were slow. Basically civilians with a smidge more authority. The first one died in a blink, the head rolling off his shoulders before the other could register what was happening.
Miguel’s foot was only able to shift its weight before–
“Kneel,” Miles commanded.
The cuffs dragged Miguel to the ground.
The officer pulled his firearm and fired.
Miles dodged the first bullet. The second landed uselessly in his claws. As did the third. And fourth. And fifth. And the rest of them until the officer’s gun was empty and his trembling hand attempted to reload it.
“Call for backup,” Miles offered.
The man fumbled with his radio.
“Miles,” Miguel’s voice strained. “I misspoke! You don’t have to do this!”
“No, you didn’t.” Miles waited until the man was halfway through his first sentence on the radio before extending the red holo of his claws to drag the feeble man over to him. The man screamed.
“Miles!”
“Do you know why we’re here, Miguel?” The man scrabbled uselessly at the ground, trying to delay his death, even if only by a few seconds. “Do you know what universe this is?” He didn’t even wait for Miguel to answer. “This is Earth-18119.”
Miguel’s eyes widened. Spinneret’s universe.
“What better way to draw out Spiders than to shake their web?”
Only when the officer finally screamed his voice hoarse, did Miles kill him with a swift strike to the chest. Miguel stared despondent at the two corpses that littered the area that moments before had Miles stopping a thief and comforting the victim.
“Everyone of your little Spider soldiers are right here.” Miles lifted his left gauntlet, the red screen screaming back at Miguel. The profiles of Spiderman, Spinneret, and Spiderling clear under the word ‘target’. “ Your incessant stalking and need for control really backfired on you, huh?”
Miguel’s heart hammered in his chest. “Miles, you’ve made your point. Please!”
“There’s no point to be made.” Miles turned to him, blood splattered across his cheek. “If anything, I’ve finally seen things your way.”
“This is not what–”
“Spiderman is suffering.”
“Spiderman is sacrifice!”
“Then may their sacrifice bring you great suffering.”
“Miles!” Miguel pleaded. “I’m sorry! You were right! I should have tried! I should have let you try!”
Miles chuckled. It left a small smile behind that grew the more Miguel struggled against his binds. The sounds of thwips overhead were the opening curtains to The Anomaly’s show. The mask engulfed his face. “We love the introspection, but you’re not sorry. Not really. But don’t worry, you will be.”
Miles was always supposed to be a hero. His mother was a nurse and his father was a good cop. Spiderman was his hero and, even if Uncle Aaron was a villain, he was a good man, at least he was to Miles, at least until a little bit at the end. Point being, Miles had the foundation of a hero. He had nature and nurture on his side.
Until he didn’t.
His hero murdered before his very eyes. His uncle dead in his arms. His father killed by a villain he created. His mother crushed in collateral damage. And maybe if he was given a chance to be that hero for his parents, he still would be.
But he wasn’t.
And this is not that story.
Miles tried to be a hero. He really did. Was he the best at it? No. Did he make mistakes? Sure. But he was young and hopeful and ready to save the world and everyone in it.
And they damned him for it.
If the universe wanted so badly for him to abandon heroism, who was he to argue? Afterall, nothing was more powerful than the will of the universe. Champion of the canon, Miguel O’ Hara, would agree.
Miles Morales was not supposed to be Spiderman. He got married to that title at the altar of death; of course it was never going to last. He was the reason Peter Parker was damned. His uncle was damned. His father was damned. His mother. And it was all his fault. The universe punished him for thinking he was above fate, for thinking he was a hero. The universe punished him for believing he had any sort of free will.
But see, that was the problem. Miles was a free spirit at heart and he didn’t take kindly to being told what he could and could not do. So being a hero was never going to work out anyway. Miguel just helped him realize that sooner and Mr. Ohnn opened his eyes to a multiverse of possibilities.
Miles Morales would have been a great hero. He will be an even greater villain.
This universe’s Spiderman was just a teenager. With the data they scraped from Miguel’s computer, they had a list of the most common canon events for all Spiders, but Peter Parkers were absolutely riddled with them; especially teenage ones. Miles could freely pick from the bunch.
Miles and Mr. Ohnn had stalking Spiders down to a science. Following on foot was the worst because, not only was it more difficult to keep up, Spiders often noticed them and got suspicious, especially with Mr. Ohnn looking the way he does. Too high and Miles would be a break in the normally clean skyline. While Spiders might not immediately notice and, when they did, tended not to jump to conclusions, they did become more wary of others following afterwards. The sweet spot was in the blindspot behind them. Spiders never really saw it coming, unable to comprehend someone else moving exactly as they do. It was too easy.
Unfortunately, Miles and Mr. Ohnn forgot to take into account that they would need to practically babysit one Miguel O’Hara. He had been digging his heels while they stalked the teen Parker. Now, in theory they could have left him at the little hideout they had in this universe, but that would defeat the purpose of taking him in the first place. Miles wanted him to be there for every step they took to collapse a universe. To be unable to stop them as they ruined his life’s work. To be helpless as they destroyed everything he aimed to protect.
Miguel would understand what it was like to lose everything.
Now, if he would just stop acting like a little bit–
Miguel made a little too much noise on one of their stakeouts and caused Peter to notice them. Mr. Ohnn had to take him away before he could ruin anything else. It was a little more annoying than Miles was expecting, but it all worked out. It was never hard to convince a Spider, especially a young one, that they weren’t the only Spider running around, that they weren’t alone. Miles was still a relatively personable guy even if he was a villain now, and he and the teen Peter became fast friends. With Miles prying info from the source and the Spot stalking the local villains, it wasn’t hard to figure out their next steps.
A canon event was coming up. Captain Stacy was due to die any day now. Peter Parker and Gwen Stacy just started dating, and Doc Ock was setting up his master plan. Miles just had to wait for the right timing. The perfect timing. Too early and it would no longer register the canon event; the universe would reset it for later. Too late and, well, the obvious.
Now, they were in downtown Manhattan. Miles, Mr. Ohnn, and Miguel stood a good distance away. Well, Miguel was on his knees because he didn’t want to behave, but they watched the chaos from above. Peter was doing his best to fend off Doc Ock while poor Captain Stacy was on crowd control. It was a difficult job especially with the two supers slamming each other into buildings and moving down an avenue nearly every minute. This Spider had yet to learn how to keep property damage to a minimum.
Miles was getting antsy waiting. He rocked on his feet watching blows being traded, waiting for the finishing move. Both Peter and Doc Ock were getting worn down. Soon. “I got this,” he said to Mr. Ohnn, getting ready to launch off the building. “Make sure he has a good view.”
“Aye aye, captain,” Mr. Ohnn said, waving him off.
Miles let himself tip over the edge. The wind cold against his skin, the screams filling the air, the reflective glass windows rushing past him, it was just right. A child cried next to a crumbling building. Captain Stacy raced to try and protect her. Peter was too preoccupied to do anything to stop it. Everything was perfect.
Miles swooped in just in time to save both Captain Stacy and the girl from being crushed under rubble.
Captain Stacy’s mouth was agape, saved by a masked vigilante he had never seen before. “Thank you,” he said. Once he set his feet on the ground and stood at his full height added, “Aren’t you a little short to be a hero?”
Miles cocked his head at him. “Aren’t you a little fragile to take on a building?”
Captain Stacy placed his hands on his hips as he leveled Miles with a look only a father could achieve.
A crack signaled Peter landed the final blow on Doc Ock. “Captain Stacy! Anom! He quickly webbed the Doc’s arms down.
“Anom?” Captain Stacy asked.
“Short for The Anomaly,” Miles responded.
“Weird name.”
Peter ran over to them, nearly stumbling over himself. “Are you guys alright?”
Captain Stacy threw a thumb towards Miles. “Spiderman, you know this kid?”
Miles crossed his arms. “I just saved your life.”
“Thank you for that, but that doesn’t change the fact that if he's just a kid,” he pointed to Peter. “Then you’re definitely one too.”
“I- I’m sorry, Captain Stacy,” Peter said between pants. “I tried to- but Doc Ock was- and I wasn’t-”
Captain Stacy held a hand up before it got worse. “It’s alright, kid. I’m still standing.”
Peter whipped around to look at Miles. “Thank you, Anom! I don’t know if I could have done it without you!”
Miles waved him off. “You would have been fine.”
Peter grabbed his hands. “I really wouldn't have. Thank you!” He had those bright, wide, lenses that surely hid the awe and relief trained on Miles. He was practically radiating sparkles.
Miles squirmed under the attention, wanting to pull his hands back, but he had a part to play. “‘S alright.” He shrugged.
Captain Stacy huffed at the stilted interaction and gave them both a pat on the shoulder. “Alright, you kids get out of here, I’m going to make sure the area is clear,” he insisted. He turned on his heels and ran down the street. He only made it halfway before a buzzing thrummed in the back of the Spiders’ mind.
“Miles!” was Mr. Ohnn’s short warning.
Both teens reacted. Peter turned to assess if Mr. Ohnn was a threat, taken aback by the stranger. But Miles knew what the warning was for, he darted after Captain Stacy. Mechanical tentacles attacked the Captain. Doc Ock had broken free. Miles tried his best to reach him. Miles tried his best to save him. But there were six arms and Miles only had two web shooters. Maybe, maybe if Peter hadn’t been distracted by Mr. Ohnn. Maybe if he was faster or stronger or if he had been more careful.
The sharp point of one of Doc Ock’s arms plunged into Captain Stacy’s chest.
“NO!”
Captain Stacy fell to the ground.
“Captain!”
Peter Parker ran past him, fending off the Doctor.
Doc Ock fled while Peter cradled the fallen officer.
Miles walked numbly to them.
Captain Stacy pawed weakly at his chest. “Peter,” he coughed blood. “It’s alright.” No. No, it was not.
“Look at me,” Peter tore off his mask. “Stay with me. Helps on the way.” Tears welled in his eyes.
“You need to be gone when they get here, ‘kay.” The captain hissed in pain.
“I’m not going anywhere,” his voice wavered. Stop.
“‘S not about you. The city needs you.” His words began to slur together. “You’re going to make enemies. People’re gonna get hurt. People close to you.” His voice grew weak. “Promise me something.” Don’t do it.
Peter leaned forward.
“Leave Gwen out of it.” He could barely keep his eyes open. “Promise me.”
As Peter cradled George Stacy in his hands, he lied and nodded. Giving a dying man one last semblance of peace and dooming Gwen Stacy. Captain Stacy’s eyes fell shut. His heartbeat slowed until it stopped. Peter sobbed. He wept, forgetting that he was not alone.
“What happened?” Miles asked Mr. Ohnn, not looking away from the scene.
Peter stiffened.
“Miguel– I took my eyes off him for a second. He cut the bindings on Doc Ock.”
Miles' jaw tightened. “His cuffs were locked.”
“With his teeth.”
A laugh bubbled out of him. It was unstoppable. The vision of Miguel on his knees chewing through webbing was hilarious. What a ridiculous– Hah. He lost to a man shackled in cuffs Mr. Ohnn designed, that he placed on him. That was just FUCKING hilarious.
It was his own fault really. Success was never so easily given, not for him. Miles Morales failed again. Because of Miguel O’ Hara. Always because of Miguel O’Hara.
His laughter settled down. “Where is he?” Miles asked. Miguel was thrown onto the ground nearby. He didn’t even turn around to look at him. He worried he’d lose control if he set eyes on the bastard. He tapped his gauntlet to lock him to the ground. Peter was looking at them with wide eyes, sweet and innocent. Nothing like Miles. “Bring me the good doctor.”
Doc Ock fell out of the sky from a portal Mr. Ohnn so graciously provided him.
“Wha–”
Miles was on him faster than he could finish the sentence. Doc Ock attempted to fend him off, but he just grabbed the mechanical arms and drained the electricity from them, leaving them limp and the old man weak and defenseless. “You don’t even understand what you’ve done,” he said. He tore off the clawed end of the tentacle still stained with Captain Stacy’s blood. “You’ve just started him down the path of becoming one of the greatest superheros to ever grace this universe and you one of his greatest nemesis.” He turned the sharp metal in one hand and grabbed Doc Ock’s neck with the other. “But more importantly, you’ve pissed me off.”
“Miles!” Miguel shouted.
“And for that,” Miles hissed into the old man’s ear. “I will make you both nothing.”
The claw plunged into Doc Ock’s chest. A wet gasp escaped him. He stared in horror as his own creation maimed him.
“No!” Peter Parker, ever the hero.
Miles shot a jolt of electricity through the tentacle, extending the forceps through soft flesh and making the Doctor’s life unsalvageable.
Peter tackled him. “Why did you do that?!” His face was a mess; tears still falling from his chin. “We’re supposed to be better than them! We're heroes!”
Miles twisted, reversing their positions. “No. You’re the hero.” He dodged Peter’s haphazard punch. This Spiderman might be older than him, if barely, but he has defeated and killed older, stronger, faster Spiders than this one. And after such a grueling fight with Doc Ock and heavy loss of Captain Stacy, this Spiderman stood no chance.
Miles wrapped his claws around Peter’s neck and squeezed. Peter struggled and flailed to no avail.
“Miles, stop!” Miguel struggled against the cuffs. Uselessly. Fruitlessly. He never really learned. Good. It would be boring if he gave in too easily. Poor pitiful Peter Parker, merely a vehicle to bring him pain.
Miles turned to him, the pressure around Peter’s thin neck not once letting up. “You did this to him.”
Miguel’s eyes turned from distress to fury. “Don’t you dare,” he hissed.
“He could have had a blissful end; Captain Stacy alive and Doc Ock thwarted! You just had to go and mess everything up!”
Peter scratched at his arms and mask, but it did nothing. Maybe if he had talons.
“Leave him alone!” Miguel shouted. Not a plea because he was too proud for that.
Miles laughed. Peter’s eyes were full with horror, desperation and those stupid dumb brown eyes reminded him of another older version and his grip tightened even further. See him. See him in all of his brutal glory.
“Why?” Miguel screamed. “You’re fighting against something beyond your perception!”
Anger flared. “I am beyond you!” Fighting against it? No. That was not his intention anymore.
“If you keep this up, the web will unravel!”
“And I can’t wait!” Peter’s neck cracked between his hands. Miles climbed back to his feet, standing over the corpse of another Spider. His eyes trained on Miguel’s. “Let it all crumble.” He stalked forward. “Let it all die.”
Miles stood in front of Miguel as a failure, again, unable to collapse the universe in the way he deemed fitting. Everything he and Mr. Ohnn put into this operation, all for nought. He cocked his leg back. The crack of Miguel’s jaw against his boot was satisfying. Almost as satisfying as the hateful glare he received back.
Miguel spit out some blood. His teeth were stained red when he bore them at Miles. “You should seek therapy.”
“That’s rich coming from the king of repressed grief.” Miles grabbed Miguel by the collar of the cheap white t-shirt they stole from a Mart-Wal.
Funny how they needed to provide Miguel with stuff even though he was technically a prisoner kept for torture. He looked so… civilian with the cheap clothes on, save for the impressively sharp bone structure, but they couldn’t have the man walking around and drawing attention with his super suit. But he would need it now, especially since it’s been a while since they’ve given him his dose of Spider steroids.
Miles released the locks in Miguel’s cuffs just in time for a kick to the chest to send the man sprawling. It was easy to wrestle the disoriented man to his back. He reared his clawed fist back.
Miguel managed to block the punch, but Miles refused to let up, punching over and over again. He tried to fight back or kick Miles off, but weakened by the few weeks of captivity he could do nothing but take it. It seemed to be a recurring theme. So he was left to do his best and block the blows. Until his arm cracked under the abuse. His arm was most certainly fractured.
Miguel grit his teeth. Defiant in much the same way Miles once was. “This won’t fix anything! This won’t bring them back!”
“Fix?” Miles grabbed Miguel’s arm and squeezed. “Bring back?” He twisted until what could have been a fracture was now most certainly broken. Miguel yowled, instinctually turning away and cradling his arm to his chest. “You think I want them to see me like this? You think I want them to see what I've become?” he spat. “No. Let them rest. The multiverse will die in their name, for my satisfaction.”
Miles landed a solid blow to Miguel’s face, knocking his head against the concrete.
“Hey, watch the teeth!” Mr. Ohnn said, watching the scene while leisurely leaning against a car. “I don’t want to be the one blending up his meals.”
Miles scoffed. He grabbed under Miguel’s jaw, glaring back at the sneer the man shot at him. His eyes fell onto the teeth that ruined everything. “We’re muzzling this mutt.” He tossed Miguel’s head once more into the ground and got up. He dusted himself off and stepped on Miguel’s broken arm, digging his heel in. He relished the scream it tore out of him. “I dare you to pull that shit again.” He rolled his shoulders and walked away, considering their next steps.
Mr. Ohnn knelt near Miguel inspecting the injury he was automatically in charge of monitoring. “Did you think that poor Peter's sacrifice would save this universe?” he asked quietly to Miguel as the man’s chest heaved. Clearly he did, otherwise he wouldn’t have tried such a hail mary. “We’ve learned a lot in all this time. There’s more than one way to the end of the universe.” Mr. Ohnn chuckled. He looked over at Miles who stood tall in front of the burning buildings and cooling corpses. “You will bear witness to his greatness, Miguel O’Hara.”
They dragged Miguel’s unconscious form through the portal. Miles huffed, frustrated that the man was so heavy to him despite now having super strength. It didn’t help that it was impossible to have a good hold on the limp body. Still, the two of them managed.
“Get him on the table,” Mr. Ohnn said. He ripped open the drawers for the medkit. Miles hefted Miguel over to the metal work table. He had to contort his body to shove and slide the mountain of a man off his shoulders and onto the smooth surface.
Mr. Ohnn ran around washing his hands and gathered clean water into a metal basin. “Take his shirt off.”
Miles scowled but obeyed. Why did he have to do all this for fucking Miguel O’ Hara? He activated his gauntlet to slice through the thin fabric.
“Don’t give me that look,” Mr. Ohnn said. “You wanted to keep him, not me.”
“I get it,” he snapped back. Revulsion turned in his gut. The thought of saving the life of the man who ruined his was abhorrent, had his jaw clenched tight and fighting off the desire to just kill the man right here and now. He avoided looking at the beaten and bleeding man on the table and tried not to think of his hands wrapping around his throat. He couldn’t continue Miguel’s misery if he was dead. Focus on the job.
The wound was still bleeding sluggishly. Miguel was fully unconscious and had no reaction to the two of them flitting around him.
“Wash your hands and put on some gloves.” Mr Ohnn said, taking out the packaged needle and gauze to set them aside. “And grab a clean towel.”
Miles hurried around the room doing just that. “You didn’t need all this last time,” he grumbled.
“Yeah, well, ‘last time’ the wound was already closing and all I had to worry about was a little infection. This–” Mr. Ohnn snapped some gloves on. “This doesn’t look so good.”
“He said he was weaker.” Miles gestured to Miguel. “Said he needs his serum that his powers were tied to genetic stability or something.”
“Serum?”
“The green goo.”
“Oh,” Mr. Ohnn opened a portal to gather the vials and injector. “Must be why his healing factor is kind of shit right now.”
Anger flared anew. “He was weakened the whole time,” Miles snarled. The whole time he believed he bested the Miguel O’ Hara, Spiderman of the future, leader of the Spider Society, the man that took everything from him. But he didn’t. He thought he finally did something right, but it was a hollow victory. He was still that weak little kid trapped in the stupid orange box. And who knew how long it had been since his last serum dose. Everything he and Mr. Ohnn had been working on, training for, he still couldn’t beat Miguel on even ground.
“I would love to reassure you or give you some words of encouragement, Miles, but we’re kind of busy here.”
After drying his hands off, Miles joined Mr. Ohnn at the table. “I didn’t win.”
Mr. Ohnn snapped to him. “Of course you did.” He grabbed an x-ray scanner from the otherside of the table and positioned it over Miguel’s wound. He double checked to see if the scan was running before turning to grab Miles’ shoulders and looked him in the eyes. “Listen, we are not gladiators in the colosseum. It doesn’t need to be an honorable 1 v 1. You had an opportunity and took it. Recognizing those moments of opportunity and capitalizing is what separates the winners from the losers. You hear me?” He jostled Miles with a little shake.
Of all the people that should have been there for him, supported him, the Spot should have been at the bottom of the list. And yet, that couldn’t be further from the truth. Mr. Ohnn was the only one who was there for him, the only one who could understand him.
Truthfully, Miles didn’t know what he did to have Mr. Ohnn choose to help him, let alone stay with him. He would never be able to express how grateful he was to the man for picking him above all else.
“I hear you,” Miles said.
“Good,” Mr. Ohnn squeezed his shoulders before letting go. “Because I’m kind of panicking right now, so if we could save your crisis for later, would love.”
Miles snorted. “Sure.”
Mr. Ohnn looked over the scanner results and let out a sigh of relief. “No internal organ damage, thank whatever for that, because I may have a doctorate, but not that kind of doctor. I do know, however, I gotta replace these,” He pulled the gloves off and put on some clean ones. He picked up the injector and turned it over in his hand. “Clean the wound for me, would you?”
Miles wiped the blood from the surrounding skin, making it easier for Mr. Ohnn to work later. He dunked the bloodied rag into the once pristine water, casting a reddish cloud to the basin. Soon he revealed three distinct slashes. He dabbed away at the wounds, careful not to accidentally undo the work of any clotted blood. He tried not to focus on who was on the receiving end of his diligent care.
Mr. Ohnn had all he needed laid out on the table nearby. “I’m going to seal the opening, then give him the goo and some antibiotics.” he said. “It’s not exactly sterile, but once his healing factor is back to top form, it’ll take care of any infection for us. You with me?”
Miles snorted. “And you say you’re not a doctor.”
“I just watched a lot of medical dramas when I was in undergrad.” But despite his words, his deft fingers worked quickly on the sutures. Perhaps it was his previous lab work that trained his steady hand; that and all the practice he had on Miles and now Miguel.
Miles watched as Mr. Ohnn completed stitch after stitch. Miguel had not stirred once, but he was still breathing, which was… a sign. But Miles’ anxiety was ratcheting. If Miguel died here on this table, what was next for them? This was… everything. This was what he worked towards for years. And if he didn’t have this…
“Hey, Miles, wanna help?” Mr. Ohnn asked.
“What?” A spike of nervous energy pulled his spine straight.
“If you could help put some stitches in that top laceration, you’d save us a lot of time,” he said. Eyes solely focused on closing up the middle tear which was the longest and deepest cut by far.
“But I don’t know how–”
“Pull up a video. It’s not that hard.”
“He’s dying,” Miles stressed.
“You learn best under pressure.” Mr. Ohnn pulled up a projection of a youtube video showing how to make a simple interrupted suture. “Besides, he’s in no condition to complain about bad stitches.”
His palms started to sweat. “I don’t know–”
Mr. Ohnn handed him a needle and thread. “Experience is the best teacher.”
Miles took it and sighed. Mr. Ohnn wasn’t going to back down from this. Fine. He threaded the needle and watched the video once. When he turned back to look at Miguel, another pair of forceps were in front of him. Well, now or never.
He grabbed a piece of skin with the forceps and pried the wound open a little to get a better view. He slowly pierced the flesh with the needle in his other hand, brows knitting in concentration to keep his hand steady.
“You’re holding it too tight,” Mr. Ohnn said. “You’re making yourself tremble.”
“Well, sorry for being nervous,” Miles hissed as he fully pulled the needle out to the otherside.
“Don’t be. You don’t care about this guy. Who cares if he has a shitty stitch?”
He was right. Why was Miles trying so hard for this asshole? He wanted to get it right, sure, but the best person to fuck up on was Miguel O’ Hara. The surgeon’s knot seemed easy enough. He wrapped the thread around the forceps three times just like the video and pulled the leftover thread through and tugged.
“Pull it tighter,” Mr. Ohnn corrected.
So he did. And did the knot two more times before standing straight and looking up for confirmation.
“Not bad, kid. Now do it again.”
Miles preened under the praise and got to work. The next one he finished faster and the one after that. Before he realized it, he finished seven stitches and sealed up the top laceration.
Mr. Ohnn patted him on the shoulder, gloves off and having already finished sealing the other two wounds. “Good job.”
Seeing Mr. Ohnn’s straight and neat stitches next to his more crooked ones, did nothing to deter the smile off his face. Practice was practice. “Thanks.”
“Almost done, just the goo and the antibiotics.” Mr. Ohnn inserted the serum cartridge into the injector and shot it right into the meat of Miguel’s shoulder.
The rest of it should have been easy. Miguel was unconscious and hadn’t even so much as twitched as they worked on him. So they weren’t expecting it when his eyes snapped open and began thrashing.
“Oh, that’s not good.” Mr. Ohnn said unhelpfully. His attention focused on the wound. “Hold him down. We don’t want his stitches to tear.” He held Miguel’s legs down or at least tried to.
Miles went into his gauntlet to lock down Miguel’s wrist, but that didn’t stop him from trying to twist out of them, which was causing blood to seep from the freshly closed wounds. He tried to push down on Miguel’s chest to stop his torso from writhing, but he was still pulling at his stitches. “Miguel, stop!”
“We’re trying to help you, buddy!”
Miles didn’t even bother to correct Mr. Ohnn. “You’re making this worse for yourself, man!”
“I worked really hard on those sutures!”
Miguel continued to try and buck them off.
“Maybe shut up, Mr. Ohnn. I think your voice is setting him off.”
“Oh, like yours doesn’t?”
Was this part of ‘genetic maintenance’? If so, Miguel really needed to elaborate more on what that entailed because this was not what he had in mind. His eyes darted around wildly, confused, and fearful.
And while Miles wasn’t opposed to that expression on Miguel’s face, it ticked him off that it wasn’t him causing it. He climbed onto the table and straddled the man’s chest. He gripped Miguel’s face between his hands and made him focus. “Hey!”
Miguel’s eyes still tried to look around. “Where am I?”
“So he speaks!”
“Miles? Wh- what happened?”
“You got your ass beat by that Scorpion. Remember that?”
A twitch in Miguel’s brow. “I did not lose to the Scorpion,” he snarled. “I lost to you kicking me into a building.”
“Seems coherent enough,” he said over his shoulder to Mr. Ohnn. “Promise not to move around and tear your stitches?”
“Wha– yeah, just get off.”
Miles hopped off and undid the locks. Miguel immediately tried to sit up.
“Ah,” Mr. Ohnn said, pushing him back down. “Don’t ruin my hard work.”
Miguel rolled his eyes. “I didn’t mean to.”
“When you said genetic maintenance I didn’t think you meant it made you go ballistic!”
“No. No, I didn’t– I just– The fluorescent lights–” He bit his lip. “I thought I was somewhere else.”
Miles raised an unimpressed brow. “So you don’t normally get that violent?” he asked for clarification.
“No, I don’t.”
“Good, because if that was a regular thing, you definitely weren't going to be getting your weekly steroids.”
“There not–” Miguel did a double take the best he could laying flat on his back. “You’re going to give me my serum doses?”
“You’d die without it, wouldn’t you? And I can’t have that, can I?”
Miguel scowled. This was exactly where he belonged; at Miles’ mercy. Mr. Ohnn was right in a sense, it didn’t matter that they got here with less than fair means. Still it didn’t sit right with him, but now he would amend that. Miguel would never taste freedom again, not even in death.
Miles snickered, finally disposing of the bloodied gloves. “Didn’t think it was that easy to get away from me, did you?” He patted Miguel’s cheek condescendingly.
Miguel trudged after the villainous duo. The Spot jumped them to a new universe a few days ago, said something about replenishing his spots. According to Gwen’s report about the Spot’s initial universal incident, that only spelled doom. He had to stop them.
It was his top priority, or it would have been had a Scorpion anomaly not appeared in a mass of glowing particles. Confused and agitated, the creature lashed out at anything and anyone that was too close to it.
People screamed, terrified of the strange man-beast that was not quite their own. The noise only drove it further into a frenzied state. Miguel and Miles deftly dodged a car haphazardly tossed their way, while the Spot yelped and threw himself onto the ground with the grace of a stone boulder.
Miguel had to take care of the anomaly before it could do anymore damage. He summoned his suit, at least he tried to, but nothing happened. Right. Miles and the Spot disabled his nanosuit. He was left in cheap civis. Still, all these innocent civilians had even less defense against the Scorpion. He stepped up.
Miles’ hand shot out to stop him. “Still trying to play hero?”
Miguel glared at him. “Someone has to.”
He scoffed. “Be my guest.”
“He’s going to get himself killed,” The Spot interjected. He wasn’t wrong. How long had it been since his last dosage of his Spider serum? ‘Too long’ was the correct answer since if he had been any slower, that car would have scalped him.
“I’d like to see him try,” Miles sneered.
Miguel turned back to the chaos. He had to play this smart, no suit, no armor, no webs. The Scorpion thrashed his tail wildly, his eyes unfocused and without purpose. More beast than man. He could do this.
Miguel dashed forward. He tore off a car door. Hm, still have enough power for that. Maybe… He ducked his head inside to put the car in neutral.
“Hey!” he called out to the Scorpion. It did not at all catch its attention, too much noise around them. Fine, maybe this would. He picked up a stone and chucked it at the back of the Scorpion’s head.
It snapped in his direction, snarling and drooling. Great. It mindlessly charged straight at him. Perfect.
Miguel kicked the car with enough power to send it careening into the Scorpion. It slammed into the building opposite of him. It didn’t have the oomph he had been looking for. The beast tanked the hit. It scrambled over the car to get to him.
Incapacitate the tail, the rest would come easy.
Miguel roared, a challenge the beast didn’t back down from. He rested the car door on the tip of his right foot. He braced himself for contact. Normally he wasn’t worried about an anomaly of this level, but he was weaker now.
It moved in accordance with its animal instincts. Easy to predict, easy to read its movements. Miguel dodged its first slash and the second, on its third he dodged, leaving his right side open. Movement caught his eye. He kicked up the car door, catching the stinger as it pierced the metal. He hefted the door up and slammed it down, using it to sever the tail.
The Scorpion howled. It lashed out. Miguel dodged and backed out of its range. He had to contain it. He had to beat it and send it back to HQ for processing and– Wait, he wasn’t–
A claw tore into his side. Shit. He stumbled back. Focus, O’ Hara. He didn’t have the leeway to be distracted. He extended his talons; not coming as long as usual. Damn it. Was he really going to lose here to this level of anomaly? It was weak, slow, and dumb. And he may be weakened and slower than usual, but that was no excuse. He dodged under a wide swing and slashed upwards across its chest. Blood splattered onto him. The Scorpion yowled and backed away.
Miguel had to finish it. No containment, no HQ to send it back to. He could not rely on the Society coming to pick it up; what if it got loose and caused more chaos. He had to handle this himself. He had to neutralize this threat.
A distinct warble sounded overhead. He looked up. The sky split into hexagons. Three Spiders jumped out. This was arguably worse. Unsuspecting and unaware of the danger that awaited them.
“Ooh, a little treat just for me,” Miles said, shoving Miguel back.
No! Miguel grabbed Miles arm, but was met with a glare. “Miles,” he hissed.
The Scorpion roared and charged, ignorant of the new alarming situation Miguel found himself in. The Spiders had more important issues at hand than a simply rampaging anomaly and Miguel didn’t have the resources to deal with it for them. And at this point, it wasn’t even a priority in anyone’s books.
“You’ve had your fun. It’s my turn now.” Miles spun a spike in his hand. The Scorpion paid him no mind, its focus solely on sinking its claws into Miguel. Its wild nature and tunnel vision made it easy for him to get his spike through its jaw and into its brainstem. It never stood a chance. He dropped the body and turned towards the Spiders, giving them a small wave. “Hello!” he greeted.
The small team nearly fell on their ass when they saw The Anomaly and the Spot where they were expecting a run-of-the-mill anomaly containment. But their assignment was at Miles’ feet and they had a new problem to face. Deal with The Anomaly, either beating him, which was unlikely, or getting away which was still unlikely, but marginally better odds. And then there was the added task of getting Miguel out of his clutches.
They may be caught off guard and unlikely to win, but it was a rare opportunity, one Miguel intended to take advantage of. All they had to do was portal back to HQ and he just needed to find an opening to tag along.
But Miles wouldn’t let go of him that easily, wasn’t about to let any of them go.
Miles cocked his head up challengingly. “Try not to bore me.” His mask materialized and he dispatched his drones.
The Spiders attacked.
Miguel stayed back behind the Spot, who was also content to just watch. He wasn’t locked down; Miles probably forgot to and with the Spiders keeping him occupied, it would stay that way until he did something to remind his captors. He would try and avoid that until the right moment.
Miles ducked and dodged, doing much of the same; waiting for his opportunity. He threw smoke bombs, attempting to obscure the battlefield and get a good sneak attack in, but spidey-sense kept the Spiders out of danger.
They covered for each other. If one got caught, another seemingly materialized out of thin air to get Miles to back off. They surrounded him, taking shots from his blindspots. Miles was fast, more attuned with his senses, but they were a team. They should have been winning against Miles on his lonesome.
Maybe it was because Miles’ new lonesome life prepared him better than the occasional team up the Spiders had. Regardless, the fact of the matter was, his Spiders were struggling. And the Spot hadn’t even stepped in yet.
Damn it. Miguel’s opportunity had not yet come, but that didn’t matter. “Move!” he shoved a Spider out of the way of Miles’ claws. He refused to stand idly as they died. The moment where they all managed to escape back to HQ would never be the ‘right’ moment if even one of them died. Even if it was just them– As long as they made it out, that was good enough for him.
“Portal! Get back to HQ!”
Their hands flew to their watches, typing furiously to get back to base, they smacked the center of the screen waiting for their hexagonal portal to appear, but nothing happened.
“Looks like you're stuck in my web,” Miles taunted. How–? The Spot finally stepped forward to settle behind the kid.
Miguel’s eyes widened. He saw them tinkering with one of the containment projectors when they had first taken him. Then the Spot was working on Miles drones for the past week. It might not be a coincidence.
“Run!” Miguel shouted. “Get out of his range!”
“Mig–” One of the Spiders tried.
“Forget about me! Go!”
They had a moment of apprehension before obeying and turning tail. Miles darted after them, but Miguel tackled him to the ground.
“Well, aren't you just a dashing hero,” Miles spat. He elbowed Miguel in the chin and kicked him off. They both rolled back onto their feet and circled each other. “Mr. Ohnn, bring back the strays.” The Spot nodded and portaled away.
That left Miguel and Miles alone in the open streets of this New York. Pedestrians scattered to the winds, but some remained close, curiosity winning over their instincts to run. They peeked through curtains from high above or in doorways of stores. These people needed to stop being so nosy; they were going to get themselves killed.
Blood soaked through Miguel’s thin shirt and ran down his leg. He cringed at the uncomfortable feeling of the heavy, sticky, weight of it making his pants cling to his flesh. Oh, and the gaping wound on his side too. Every step was agony, but he powered through it. If he could buy the Spiders any amount of time–
“Don’t worry,” Miles said, flexing his fist. “When I beat your ass, I won’t get a big head about it.” Arrogant little– “Nothing special about putting a wounded old man in his place.”
“Right, cause you can’t take me on otherwise,” Miguel snarled.
Tension flared in Miles’ shoulders. “And who says you’re not funny.” Miles made the first move, throwing one of his spikes at Miguel.
Miguel dodged, but twisting at his waist tugged painfully at his skin. He had no mask, Miles must see his discomfort and opted to take advantage, grabbing another spike and engaging in close combat.
On a baseline, Miles was relatively faster than Miguel, certainly more slippery. The sheer power of Miguel’s muscles was the one thing that propelled him fast enough to keep up, but right now he had none of that. It took all his concentration just to avoid the lick of Miles’ blade. His saving grace was that Miles seemingly wanted to do this the old fashioned way; without his electricity and invisibility.
But once Miguel looked closer there was more working in his favor than he initially realized. Wide swings, mediocre form; if he weren’t so weakened he could take advantage. Perhaps it was the arrogance of having Miguel dancing to his rhythm, but Miles had too many openings.
Miguel grabbed Miles' wrists, a poor attempt to restrain him. “Don’t.”
Miles shoved him off. “You’re still not taking me seriously,” he said lowly.
“Kid–” A hand shot out and smacked him in the face. He landed hard on his side, a strained grunt pushing past his lips. His blood stained the concrete beneath him.
“Don’t call me that!”
“Miles,” he tried. “Don’t do this.”
“How many times are you going to say that until it gets through your thick skull that it won’t change anything!” Miles opened his arms, accepting of any blow Miguel might try. “You don’t want me to do this? Then make me!”
He physically could not. Even now, he struggled to push himself to his elbows. “Miles, I can’t.”
Miles slammed his foot into Miguel’s shoulder. “Damn right.”
He tried to push Miles’ foot off, but he was too weak. “I haven’t– I meant I haven’t taken my serum,” he hissed. Without it, his healing wouldn't be able to keep up with this wound.
Miles’ head tilted questioningly. “The injector with the green goo?”
“It’s not goo–”
“You take steroids?”
“It's not steroids,” he hissed. “It’s for genetic maintenance.”
“Maintenance?”
“Think glitching, but instead of the universe rejecting my atoms, my body is rejecting itself. My powers are tied to my genetic stability.” He gripped Miles' ankle right at the most sensitive point of the tendon and squeezed. The kid stumbled enough for him to weasel his way out from under him.
Miles stared at him standing half bent over with blood dripping down his side. “How often do you need it?”
“Once a week.” If he didn’t want any disruptions to his day to day.
“I’ve had you for almost two. You're past due.”
Yes, the deterioration right now wasn't so bad that his cells were actively cannibalizing itself, but he could tell his system was on a decline. It would be a slow painful death, especially at the end of the genetic degradation. He wasn’t expecting any of his requirements to be met, maybe only the basics to keep him alive, and even that… He was hoping to figure something out before then, but his prospects were looking grim. “I am.”
“You’re weaker, slower.” An observation, not a question.
“Don’t tell me you thought I was at full power all this time.”
Miles went still. His mind racing. His fists balled at his sides. There was a tremble in his forearms from how tightly he was wound. Rage. And Miguel was about to receive the brunt of it. Faster than Miguel could reasonably react to, Miles kicked him into a brick wall. “Mr. Ohnn,” he spoke into his comm. “Where are my Spiders?”
The Spot and two Spiders fell from a portal in the sky. “Sorry,” he panted. “One got away."
This very clearly disappointed Miles. “I can see that. Let’s not waste time then.”
Miguel watched horrified as the limp Spiders were dragged over to Miles. No. None of it mattered. He couldn’t save them. He couldn’t even find it in him to find solace in the one that managed to get away. How could he when two were still doomed to die at Miles’ hand?
“Mig–,” One of them mumbled into the ground, her mask was torn, one of her lenses popped out. Her brown eyes strained to stay open. “Miguel.” Her arm stretched out, reaching for him.
Miguel found the energy to push himself out of the dent he left in the wall, but immediately crumbled to his knees. Fuck, his back. He tried to get back on his feet, but hell, his whole body was a wreck.
A spike tore through her skull. Her hand laid still on the ground. The light no longer in her eye.
Fury filled him. “Miles!” He tried to yell, but his battered body made it sound broken even to his own ears.
Miles turned to the other Spider and Miguel–
God, he hated that he even thought it, but he took minor comfort in the fact that the other Spider was unconscious when Miles' claws tore through his neck. This was wrong. This was all wrong.
He fell onto his side, the blood loss finally getting the better of him. The Spot strode over, kneeling by his side. How funny. His life in the hands of a multiversal bending villain. The irony.
Miles must see it too, because he’s practically giggling over Miguel’s bloodied body. He twirled his finger and spun on his heel. “Onto the next.”
To anyone who's here to keep updated on my fic The Anomaly, I'm sorry to say I'm going to be breaking my regular update streak and will be delaying chapter 12 by a week two weeks. I'm quite busy at the moment and haven't had the time to go back and edit the next chapter.
I'll try to edit and upload the new chapter when I can.
Happy Lunar New Year to anyone who celebrates it! 🧧🎇
(edit) ok I'm a liar, this week was busier than anticipated so the update will be delayed by another week 😅
Who was he anymore? It was a question he held for a while now. Jonathan Ohnn was an intelligent scientist, an innovator, a king among his peers, and a man abandoned by his friends and family after his disfigurement.
The Spot learned that what he had become was not a disfigurement, but a gift of power. Space bent to his will, the universe could not contain him. He was almighty, omnipotent, a God, and so very alone.
The Spot was alone for a long time, even when he had been Jonathan Ohnn, he just hadn’t realized it back then. So caught up in his work and research that he never actually lived his life. It was no wonder the people around him left, he gave them no reason to stay.
Mr. Ohnn was all of that and a little less alone. If you had told him two years ago he would be traveling the multiverse with the new Spiderman, he would have said, ‘Implausible if not impossible.’ He hated Spiderman. But Miles Morales, not so much.
Miles Morales had been Spiderman, but he was so much more. He was a smart kid. A good boy that was trampled on by people he trusted. A sweetheart that turned bitter. He was the sort of person who was easy to take advantage of. Or, he should have been. But the kid was resilient above all else.
Weakened by loss, Spiderman should have been easy prey, but he did not meet Spiderman in the Morales home years ago. Miles Morales stood in the ashes of Spiderman. The rage in Miles’ eyes burned bright. The passion in his voice forced the Spot to listen. The plan crafted from his mind was nothing short of brilliant.
Jonathan Ohnn thought he was of superior intellect. And maybe he was, but there in that small apartment in Brooklyn, he realized he was standing in the presence of a visionary. Miles Morales would bring the world to its knees, and with the Spot’s help, the multiverse.
One thing he didn’t expect to be doing, was tempering the kid’s… enthusiasm.
“Miles,” Ohnn said. “It’s time to go.”
Miles’ chest heaved as he stood over a freshly killed Spiderwoman. She put up a good fight. He insisted that Mr. Ohnn stay out of it, so he did. It made for quite the brutal scene. Typically, they worked together to quickly and efficiently dispatch Spiders, but Miles wanted to test himself. The kid was running himself ragged. He hadn’t slept in nearly 48 hours.
Miguel’s chest was heaving just as much as Miles’. Rage burned in his eyes, but he could do nothing about it. His hands were bound in front of him stuck to the ground thanks to Ohnn’s specially designed cuffs. The binds controlled its own gravity which was controlled by the person who had the controls, which were in Miles’ gauntlets.
Once again, Ohnn conquering space.
“I can keep going,” Miles said, wiping the sweat from his brow.
Ohnn wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Nope, you still haven’t finished all your work, remember?”
Miles groaned. “Come on, Mr. Ohnn. Do I have to?”
“Hey, you were the one who told me–”
“I know! I know.” He ran a hand over his face. “Alright let’s go.”
Miguel’s cuffs released from the floor, just as they all fell through a portal to Earth-90882. He landed hard on his side. Again. Man, the guy really needed to work on that.
They were in an abandoned factory by the docks; one of their many little safehouses. Miles trudged up the stairs to where the office and all their supplies were. Ohnn followed right behind him. He gestured for Miguel to do the same, but his feet remained rooted to the floor. Hm, he didn’t attach cuffs to his ankles.
Miles glared at Miguel over his shoulder. “Come on, man. Don’t be difficult.”
Miguel growled.
Oh, very intelligent.
Miles rolled his eyes. He tapped once on his gauntlet and made a grabbing motion back towards his chest. Miguel was dragged forward, but dug his heels into the concrete. Miles scrubbed his eyes in frustration. “Mr. Ohnn, send him to the room before he gets pneumonia or something.”
“Sure.” A black portal opened underneath the Spider and a loud bang was heard ahead of them.
Miles sighed. “Thank you.”
“You're very welcome.”
Miles trudged down the hall unlocking the door to an office space. It wasn’t large, but it wasn’t small either. It helped that they rearranged the room to suit their needs. The windows were on the left, boarded up with thermal curtains Ohnn put there last time they were here. There was one long metal work table underneath it that he and Miles often shared. The kitchen supplies were in the opposite corner to the right, next to where the queen size tempurpedic bed was. They originally wanted to steal a king size, but it wouldn’t have fit in the room. The Miguel O’Hara laying in a wheezing heap on the floor was a new addition.
Weird, he wasn’t wheezing before.
Miles detracted his mask and shed his bag and hoodie, throwing it on the back of his chair. “Can you look him over?” he asked. “Imma finish my reading.”
“Yup,” Ohnn gave him a thumbs up. He rolled Miguel onto his back, searching for the hem of his suit. There wasn’t any. Well, “Can you take off your suit?”
Miguel just glared at him.
“I’m not going to do anything weird. I just–” Ohnn sighed. “Think about it this way, I patch you up, you get a better chance at escaping.”
Miles scoffed. “Don’t give him a false sense of hope.”
“I am just stating factual… facts.”
Miles chuckled. Oh, the kid must be really tired to be laughing at his jokes.
“Focus on your reading,” Ohnn said.
“Mhm.” Miles flipped open the thick textbook on the desk and sat himself in his chair.
Ohnn turned back to Miguel. “So about that suit.”
“No,” Miguel snarled.
Well, more words than last time. “Well, now you’re just being a brat.” Miguel lunged, but immediately sank back down at the sharp pain radiating from his side. “See,” Ohnn gestured to his curled form. He still glared up at him. “Come on. The sooner I patch you up, the sooner I leave you alone.”
Miguel grumbled, but relented, his suit dematerializing down to his hips. Oh, gross. There was crusted blood over much of his torso, and the wound under his ribs was still a raw red.
Ohnn stood and grabbed a towel and filled a glass bowl with water. He deposited both by Miguel as he made his way to the drawers under the work table to fetch the medkit. Gah, it was behind some tools. He had to take them out before he could get to it. Ooo, the nanodriver he was looking for. He placed that on the table and put the rest of the tools away before getting back up.
Miles was going through his math book; college level algebra. He was smart. Some might even say gifted. Not every subject interested him and unfortunately, physics was more than just theory, but Ohnn planned out a series of courses so he could learn. And yet he sat there, face scrunched as his eyes scanned over the page.
“Trouble?” Mr. Ohnn asked.
“I just don't get why we need a formula to solve a formula.” Miles rolled his eyes.
“A formula to solve an equation.”
“Same thing.”
Mr. Ohnn pulled over his chair and looked over at the page Miles was on. Quadratic formulas. Relatively simple, especially since Miles would always have the formula on hand, but he had to remember this was college level math and Miles was only 16.
“Well, I don’t see these sorts of equations too often in physics, but I’ve seen it.”
Miles’ groaned. “So I can’t skip it?”
“Everything builds on each other, Miles.”
The kid scrubbed a frustrated hand in his curls and started answering the sample problem on a loose sheet of paper. Mr. Ohnn patted him on the back encouragingly and went to tend to Miguel.
Miguel was watching them. The originally vicious red eyes, dimmed down to darker maroon. Ohnn wouldn't say that he was weakened, at least, not weakened enough to stop trying. There was still fight in his eyes. Good, Miles would hate if the Miguel O’Hara he had been waiting to dig a knife into crumbled so easily.
Miguel had already toweled off most of the crusted blood, thank god. Not that he was the religious type. Oh well, it was just a saying. It left little for Ohnn to do except stitch up the wound under his ribs, the smaller scratches Miles gave him would heal on their own.
Ohnn pulled out his microscope. Hm. There was an infection developing, but it shouldn’t be anything Miguel’s body wouldn’t be able to fight off on its own.
“You have enhanced healing, right?” Ohnn asked.
Miguel grunted.
“I need a yes or no.”
“Yes,” he hissed.
“See, not so hard.” Ohnn inspected the wound. “Miles,” he called.
The kid jerked in his seat, clearly having fallen asleep. “Huh?”
“Do I let him ride out an infection or take care of it?”
“Will he die?”
“No.”
“Then I don’t care.”
“Ok. Go shower, you’re starting to stink.”
“Am not,” Miles grumbled, but still got to his feet and walked across the room. He rummaged through the drawer by the bed and pulled out a t-shirt and sweatpants. He took a square toiletry bag with him. The door squealed when he opened it to leave.
“Can you believe this factory had showers for employees?” Ohnn said, pulling out the needle and thread. “Like just let them go home at a reasonable time, you know?”
Miguel didn’t even flinch when the needle pierced his flesh. “Why?”
“I mean, they probably have families to get back to so–”
“No,” he hissed. “Why are you doing this?”
“Patching you up? Because Miles told–”
“No!” Miguel snapped. “Why are you helping him? You hated him.”
Ohnn was taken aback. “Hate him? Not at all. What gave you that impression?”
“You hated Spiderman.”
The Spot might have hated Spiderman, but the Spider Society killed the hero for him. Left Miles Morales perfectly intact to mold Mr. Ohnn out of the shell that was the Spot and the corpse of Jonathan Ohnn.
“Miles Morales is not Spiderman. You made sure of that.”
A scowl twisted Miguel’s normally handsome face into something ugly. “I made sure his world didn’t collapse in on itself!”
“By killing his dad.”
“You killed his dad!”
“He doesn’t see it that way.” He tugged painfully on the thread, forcing a hiss past Miguel’s lips. “I wasn’t the one he begged for release from a strange prison in an alternate universe for days on end.”
“I had to! He was going to ruin everything!”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
Ohnn tied the last loop off, giving it one last tug to make sure it was secure. He checked Miguel’s other wounds to make sure there were no other life threatening injuries. He nodded satisfied when he found none.
“That’s going to get infected and you’re going to feel like shit for a few days,” Ohnn said matter of factly.
Miguel shifted uncomfortably. He had the intelligence not to ask why. He tried to sit up, but the adrenaline had long since worn off. He cringed and remained flat on the ground. “I just don't understand,” he grumbled.
“Understand what?” he asked, packing away the medical supplies.
“What do you get out of this?” Miguel rubbed his tired eyes. “I get Miles… but you?”
Ohnn shrugged. “I made him and he made me.”
Miguel moved his hands from blocking the confused expression on his face. “What?”
“I brought the spider from Earth-42 which gave Miles his powers. And with his new powers, he gifted me with mine.”
“But that doesn’t explain why you’re helping him.”
“All he has is his revenge. And all I have is him.” Ohnn snapped the medkit shut. In theory he was lonelier than ever before, but he has never felt more known than he did being with Miles. It might have been rocky at the start, awkward and stilted, but they found their rhythm.
He stared at Miguel. Miguel stared back. He originally didn’t think keeping the man was a good idea, but he could get the appeal. It was nice, seeing all the pain and anger up close, an unspoken beauty in watching Miguel’s expressions shift by his hand. And besides, it was kind of fun; like getting a new pet. He can see why Miles vouched for it.
The three of them together… What an interesting little group.
“Make no mistake,” Ohnn said. “I may be credited with his creation, what he is now is all you, Miguel.”
Frustration and bitterness was nothing new on Miguel's face, but watching his expressions shift up close was fascinating. “I didn't make this happen. Even if I hurt him, he made those choices. Don’t put this on me,” he seethed.
“Do you really think that?” Ohnn stood. “Did you really think imprisoning a child for wanting to save his father and leaving him to the wolves wouldn’t mess with him mentally?”
His brows creased. Ooo, was that a hint of shame Ohnn saw. “I did what I had to.”
“Perhaps.”He stepped away to tuck the medkit away in the drawer. “I must say Miles and I are acutely aware you aren’t necessarily wrong, but the way you handled it,” Ohnn chuckled. “You doomed the kid from the start.”
“It’s not my fault!” Miguel pushed through the pain and sat up. “It is not my fault he can’t accept the responsibility and the consequences of the job he took up! If it weren’t for him–”
The door creaked open. Miles stood in the doorway in his pajamas and a raised brow. The silver glimmer of his cuffs still wrapped around his wrists. He dumped his dirty suit into the laundry basket by the door. They both stared at him as he put his toiletry bag on the nightstand. “Gossiping?”
“Maybe a little,” Mr. Ohnn said.
“The water’s cold.”
“It just takes a while to heat up. Have a little patience.”
Miles yawned. “I just want to sleep.” He kicked his shoes off as he climbed into the bed.
“Ok, I’ll turn out the lights and be there in a bit,” Mr Ohnn said. Miguel’s head snapped to look at him with suspicion and mild disgust. He waved him off. “Don’t make it weirder than it is. The room’s not that big and there’s only one bed.”
“Yeah, dude,” Miles said, muffled into the pillow.
“Hey, lock him in before you fall asleep.” He looked at Miguel. “Get comfy, cause that’s how you’re going to be sleeping all night.” Miguel glared at him, but laid back down.
Miles fumbled with his cuffs, glaring as he forced himself to lift his head from his pillow. With a press of a button, Miguel’s wrists were immovable. Miguel tested them again, but they didn’t budge. As designed.
Ohnn grabbed the spare blanket and threw it over Miguel. “So you don’t get pneumonia.” He turned off the lights and turned in for the night.
Some good beans in the sauce man, really enjoying The Anomaly atm your writing is pleasantly copacetic and quite a refreshing character study for spider-man.
Thanks! It was an angle of Miles I wanted to see explored, but I didn't see anyone else doing it so I had to make it myself 🥲
Miguel landed hard on his arm, thankfully not the one that might be fractured but unfortunately on the side that was connected to the spike under his ribs. He hissed as he pushed himself into a sitting position. His body still ached from the aftershocks, but was regaining motor function in his limbs.
He tugged on his cuffs again, wondering if by some miracle they’ve come loose. No such luck.
Something sped towards him. Miguel pushed himself out of the way of a Vulture that almost clipped him with his wings. A Spiderman followed right after, hurling a devastating dropkick right between the wings. Electro and Doc Ock were arguing overhead, only to be interrupted by a different Spiderman knocking their heads together. This was the Sinister Six anomaly he sent a team after.
"Miguel?" A Spiderwoman landed nearby. "What are you doing here?" She flipped over a goblin bomb. "I thought there was an emergency at HQ."
Claws curled over his shoulder, digging in but not yet drawing blood. He hissed in pain and glared up at Miles. She looked at the two with confusion, clearly not recognizing him. "That would be me."
"Run!" Miguel tried to warn.
Miles tore the spike out of Miguel's torso, earning a pained yell and the attention of all the Spiders. He threw it and grabbed two more spikes off his armband to follow up. The Spiderwoman flipped over the first one, twisted over the second, but the third landed solidly in her gut. Her pattern was easy to read. All Spiders had the same foundation after all.
"No, Miles!" Miguel struggled against his binds.
Miles raised his hand, crackling with electricity. One of the others webbed it, throwing off his aim. Another ran over the Spiderwoman's side. The other two were keeping the Sinister Six at bay.
"Not cool, kid," the Spiderman said, clearly an older one.
"nOt CoOl, KiD," Miles mocked. He threw a charged punch which the foolish Spider tried to block, flying into a brick wall, crumpling against it. He leisurely strode over and knelt down next to the barely conscious Spider. "You must not be one of the good ones." He grabbed the injured Spider's head between his hands and charged.
The Spiderman tensed, teeth locked as electricity ran through him, but unlike with Miguel, Miles didn't stop. He kept charging and charging until there was visible smoke coming off the body.
Panic pumped through him. "Stop." Miles didn't. "Stop!" The acrid smell of burning flesh hit his nose. "Miles!"
The Spot shushed him. "Let the kid work."
Miles dropped the charred corpse and moved onto the next Spiderman. This one was even more at a disadvantage as he was guarding the wheezing Spiderwoman. Miles was faster, claws out and going for killshots; Spiderman only barely stayed out of his grasp. He dodged under a punch and disoriented the Spider with an uppercut to the chin.
Spiderman regained his bearings, dodging another spike. But it landed in the Spiderwoman's chest. She gurgled wetly and pawed uselessly at her chest.
"No!" Horrified by his mistake, the Spiderman wasn’t able to avoid the electrified punch, knocking him into the Spiderwoman and transferring the electrical charge to her. She convulsed and then… nothing.
This had to be a nightmare. But every ache in Miguel's body told him otherwise. This was all very real. His Spiders died and he could do nothing to stop it. His restrains dug into the thin skin of his wrists as he tugged.
Miles stalked over to the downed duo.
"Don't!" Miguel's voice sounded strained, even to him.
Miles' head snapped to him. "Don't?" He straddled the Spiderman, maintaining eye contact with Miguel. "Don't what?" He pulled out the spike from Spiderwoman's chest with a squelch. He used it to stab it through the neck of the barely conscious Spiderman. "Use your words, Miguel."
Dios mio. What had Miles become?
Miles got up with a grunt of effort, flicking the blood off his weapons. "Mr. Ohnn, help me out?" He held out a hand and a hole appeared and deposited the other spikes he missed. "Thank you."
"No problem," Spot said. "Tired?"
Miles put his weapons away as he walked over. "No, I can keep going."
"You sure? You’re slowing down a bit."
"I said no!" he snapped. He plopped down next to Miguel. His chest heaved but he wasn’t panting. He glared up at the Spot who raised his hands in surrender.
Miguel looked between the two of them, a frown set on his lips and brows knit in confusion. Miles was short with the Spot, his patience thin; they might not be as tight as once thought. Though it was strange to see the Spot sort of… subservient to Miles. Like Miles was the one in charge here. Maybe he was.
Miles grabbed the back of Miguel's neck and sent a small pulse of electricity to his suit, fritzing out his tech and breaking down his mask. "You're going to get lines, you keep frowning like that," Miles said, poking the crease of his brow.
Miguel remained silent. As he kept looking, Miles greeted him with a small tilt of his head. He was just a kid. A gangly teen that should be at home thinking about dating and when they’ll grow taller, not forcing himself to continue fighting, to continue killing for some misguided attempt at revenge.
This had to be some sort of hallucination, or a sick illusion, or a hellish nightmare. But those brown doe eyes stared back at Miguel resolutely. He was hit with a far off sense of familiarity, dragged back to the day he slammed Miles into that moon-bound train, crunching metal under his small frame.
Oh, how he saw that moment in the dead of night, thinking about how small the kid was, how thin his limbs were, and cursing himself for the horror that filled those eyes. That was Miles Morales.
And yet those same brown eyes filled with resolve stared back at him now. The same ones the kid had when he told Miguel he could save both his universe and his father. The same ones that so self-assuredly let go of the train to fall back down to the Spider Society HQ. The same ones that cracked with fear as he tore apart the walls of the Go-Home-Machine. The same ones that died day by day in the cell back at HQ. This was the same kid. This was Miles Morales.
“You know, you’re very good at your job,” Miles said, turning his attention to the last two Spidermen fighting the Sinister Six. “Soldiers spread thin and you still managed to send just the right amount of Spiders to handle this job.”
Doc Oct threw a Spider in black and yellow, Spiderman 964, across the street.
“Five was just the right number if you didn’t want any of them to get too banged up,” Miles continued. “Three would have gotten it done. Two scrapes by.”
The Lizard chased 964 up a building.
“But one–”
The classic red and blue Spiderwoman jumped over Rhino’s head.
“One is fair game.”
Miles webbed her leg as she arched, throwing her balance off, and leaving her easily within range for Rhino. She screamed as the horn tore through her arm.
Miguel instinctively got up to help, but Miles held him down. He tried to shake the hand off his shoulder, but couldn’t. This wasn’t happening. Not to his team, not at the hands of this broken kid. “You’re supposed to be a hero, Miles,” an assertion that felt hollow given the situation.
Miles must have agreed because he laughed. “Not anymore,” he said. “You made sure of that.” He pointed in the direction of the fight and Miguel couldn’t stop his eyes from following the last Spiderman get hounded by the Green Goblin and Doc Ock. “It was hard to figure out what I was going to do with you,” he said. “Gwen and Peter were easy in comparison. They actually have people in their life that they love.”
An insult, one that stung. Miguel lost Dana a long time ago, not to tragedy but his own mistakes. And Gabriella…
A tragedy born of his mistakes.
The Spiderman 964 was thrown right into Vulture’s talons.
“After I did some digging I realized your life is kind of miserable,” Miles said relaxed, conversationally.
Electro shot a bolt of lightning, striking down the lone Spiderman. Miguel turned away, unable to help and unable to bear watching another one of his Spider get murdered.
But Miles wouldn’t allow it. He grabbed the back of Miguel’s head and forced his eyes to follow. “So it was really hard to think about what I could possibly do to make it even worse.”
Miguel watched the Lizard’s claw tear into the 964’s side.
“But I figured it out."
Pumpkin bombs surrounded him as he tried to crawl away.
“I destroy everything, anything, that might have given you a semblance of pride in being a hero.”
The explosion knocked him into the side of a building.
“And that starts with your little Society.”
Rhino stomped on the still body.
The pressure on the back of Miguel's head was no longer there, yet he couldn't tear his eyes from the mangled corpse of Spiderman. One of his Spiders. Another one that he failed.
“Actually,” Miles was in front of him. He grabbed his hand and undid one of the cuffs, revealing the dimensional watch. “You made that AI yourself, right?” He held Miguel in a bone crushing grip. “Try calling out to her.”
Pinpricks ran up his spine. Fear had him by the throat. No. He made her back when he still worked at Alchemex instead of owning it. Even after everyone in his life had gone, she was there.
“Lyla?” He stared at his watch. The screens still glowed orange so it was on. Oh no. “Call Jessica.” It dialed. Still no Lyla. Miles let it go through.
“Miguel?” Jessica answered.
Miles' other hand came up to cover the face of the watch. “He's mine now.” And crushed the metal in his palm. He tore the debris off Miguel's wrist. “Don't worry about the glitching,” he said softly. He slotted the cuff back over his wrist. "This'll stop that from happening."
"What did you do?" Miguel growled.
"Well, we couldn't delete her entirely, like I said, you're good at your job." Miles looked up at him. "So we reverted her back to her original version."
Miguel's vision narrowed. That was practically the same thing. He built her to learn and grow with him, reverting her… It was the same as killing her. Whatever was left, whatever she would be, could never be the same. She was dead in everything but name.
There was a sparkle in Miles' eyes. This was exactly what he wanted. Rage flared in his chest. The kid wanted to treat everything like a game. No respect for life. For the universe. Miguel lunged forward, trying to wrap his hands around that thin neck. Before he could even curl his fingers, a hole opened up underneath him.
Miguel managed to land on his feet this time, though still clumsily falling to his hands and knees. He was still weakened by his earlier duel with Miles, but he has had enough of this. He has been having enough of this. His people were getting killed off. Years of sleepless nights, months of prep added up to nothing. He has had ENOUGH.
He raised his head ready to fight again even if in a strange and far off universe and he was met with with–
Home.
They were back in Nueva York. He'd recognize this skyline anywhere. And in front of him was his apartment. At least the one he lived in before he practically moved into the Spider Society HQ. Miles and the Spot were already strolling up the stairs.
Miles turned back and grinned at him. "Come on, slowpoke."
The "Miles" that left him was incoherent, more snarl than actual consonants. He wanted to attack, but the logical part of his brain told him to run. This was his home turf. If he could make it back to HQ…
He bolted. He didn't even make it down the street before the Spot pulled him through another portal.
"That was kinda lame," the Spot said with a hand on his hip.
"Be for real, man," Miles said, nudging Miguel with his foot. "Did you really think we went through all that trouble just to let you go?" He stood in the lobby of the apartment building, eyes searching for… "I should punish you for trying." He tapped his chin. "But if I'm honest, I don't really mind." A visceral sort of excitement overtook his face, grinning ear to ear. "I think it would be fun to hunt you down again."
Miguel didn't have a spidey sense, but he didn't need it to know danger lurked behind those eyes.
"But I guess there needs to be some sort of punishment, yeah?" he looked to the Spot.
The Spot shrugged. "He's your prisoner."
Miles walked over to the front desk and pounced on the building's receptionist. The man’s scream was cut off and blood splattered the wall behind the desk.
"No!" Miguel stepped forward, but the Spot stopped him from advancing.
Miles straightened and waved the bloodied spike in Miguel's direction. "Don't try that again," he chastised.
Miguel was at a loss for words. How did Miles fall so far? He eyed the Spot. It was the only explanation. But to this degree of detachment? It couldn't all be Spot.
"Come on," Miles said, holding the elevator door.
The Spot shoved him forward. He trudged along, wary of the duo, but unable to escape them. Yet.
He limped his way into the elevator. They went up to the 106th floor. Wait, that wasn't right. He was sure his apartment was on the 105th. Didn't matter. They got off and walked down to the right; his was supposed to be on the left.
The Spot portaled them past the locked door.
Miguel found himself looking in a mirror. No. Not a mirror. Less bags. No dark circles. There was a slight roundness in those cheeks where it was sunken on his. A variant of himself.
"Dad?" Came further from his right where typically–
Miguel’s heart stopped. No.
A seat clattered to the ground as his variant rose to his feet in shock. "Who are you people?"
Gabriella stood there in the doorway of what was presumably her room. She was older than he remembered, which made sense given that it had been years since he lost his. No, not his.
"You see what I'm going for?" Miles asked, looking at Miguel.
No, not her. Not again. "No!"
Miles grinned. "Yes!"
Miguel tried to get between them, but the Spot stopped him. Pushing down the ache and pain in his body, he slashed at the villain. The cuffs locked together and anchored to the ground, pulling him down to his knees. He tried to lift them, but they wouldn't budge.
Miles shook his head. "You better behave, otherwise I'm going to make it worse for her."
He pulled desperately, but in these cuffs he was powerless. "Miles, stop! She has nothing to do with this! She's just a kid!"
Miles’ eyes narrowed, he sneered as he spat, "I was one too." He had been. He still was. But the person standing in front of him was more monster than boy. Stripped of his innocence and burdened by a primal rage that refused to be contained.
The other Miguel put himself between the strangers and his daughter. "Get out!" his voice was firm, but it mattered very little. This man was no Spider. Miles stepped forward and slapped him across the room.
Miguel watched in horror as his variant slammed into the dining table. Gabriella screamed. "Miles, it's me you want, leave her out of this! She's innocent!"
"I know." Miles strolled over to her quaking form. "To be honest, I don't really like hurting civis like this." He grabbed her arm and dragged her back over to Miguel and the Spot. She was screaming, kicking, but Miles was enhanced and he didn't even flinch.
Miguel was breathing hard, tugging on his restraints as if it would do anything. It didn’t, but he had to try. He had to do something. He had to save her. He could not fail her. Not again. He could not lose her again.
Miles knelt in front of him, drinking in the pained, desperate expression on his face. For the first time since he appeared back in Miguel’s life, his face was relaxed. No gleeful violence. No hateful fury. "I’m doing this for you, Miguel." He gestured to Miguel's face. "For this."
Cold dread washed over him.
A chair slammed over the back of Miles’ head. He cursed, but reacted little more than placing a hand on the ground. He glared at the variant Miguel. "Mr. Ohnn," his lips pulled back in a sneer. "Get rid of the extra."
"How dead do you want him?" the Spot asked.
"Put him in the lobby. I want him to slip on her blood when he comes back."
A hole opened up underneath the other Miguel. He screamed as he fell through.
"Gabri–"
"Dad!"
Then it shut.
Silence washed over them, only Gabriella's muffled hiccuped sobs into her sleeve and Miguel's own harsh breathing as he still foolishly tried to free himself from his restraints. She looked to him. Those sweet brown eyes begging him to do something, to save her. The same ones that had once looked up to him as he ran from a wave of disintegration in another world.
Miles let them sit in it, basking in their fear. They really were father and daughter. She was scared, confused, and trembling almost as bad as Miguel as he strained against the cuffs. He grabbed Gabriella's hair and pulled her head back, relishing in the way both of them screamed.
Tears streamed down Gabriella’s face. "Dad!" She kicked and fought, but Miles didn't budge. "Dad!"
"Don't! Miles, please!" Miguel said. "She hasn't done anything!"
Miles didn’t react, as if both of them weren’t yelling in his ears. He placed a claw against her neck, digging the tip just enough to draw blood.
Not again. Miguel struggled anew, thrashing against his cuffs, but they didn't budge. Stray hairs fell in front of his face. With how much force he was putting behind it, he should be ripping the floorboards out. If not the floor, then his shoulder. "Miles!"
The claw dragged through Gabriella's throat like butter. Blood poured from her like a river.
"NO!" Miguel couldn't move. "GABI!” He needed to help her. But no matter how much he tried to pull his wrists off the floor they refused to move. Gabriella couldn’t draw breath. She gurgled, drowning in her own blood. And he could do nothing. “Pressure– Put pressure on it!”
Gabriella’s hands scrambled at her throat, but there was only so much she could do. Helpless and alone with three strangers, one masquerading as her father. She grew weaker and weaker as blood left her.
Miguel helplessly watched as he failed her again. “Please! Help her!”
Miles had just the slightest quirk of a smile on his lips.
Gabriella’s eyes begged. She was so young. So full of life. Draining out of her. Second by second. The light leaving her eyes.
Miguel could do nothing to hold onto it. “I’m sorry,” his voice wavered. For not being able to stop Miles from slitting her throat. For not being strong enough to break his restraints. For bringing a monster to her doorstep. For not being able to save her. Again. “I’m sorry.”
Her legs stopped kicking. Her hands fell away from her neck. She laid there as the blood soaked into her white nightgown. Her eyes stared past him. Gone. She was gone. Gabriella O’Hara died. Again. And it was his fault.
Hi! No spoilers about my Spiderverse fic, The Anomaly, but I think that some people are getting the wrong impression about where I want to take this story and I don't want to lead people on about what this story is.
When I originally thought up this idea, it was just Miles getting revenge on Miguel, and the dysfynctional relationship that develops between them, but the late stage of this fic didn't work as well without the build up in chapter 3-8 making Miles irredeemable in Gwen and Peter B's eyes.
Yes, you read that right, I did 8 whole ass chapters of build up to properly set up the actual fic I wanted to explore. In my original draft, ch 9 was the first "main" chapter after ch 1 and 2. I originally wanted this to just focus on Miles, Miguel, and the Spot, but because of the set up probably many of you are under the impression that the Spider Society plays a bigger role in this than it does.
From this point forward, the story moves away from the Society and is a little less action oriented. This is not Miles revenge quest across the multiverse, but rather a character study into Miles mental state in the face of ultimate loss.
To be clear, I have the whole fic plotted out already and I don't see myself deviating from what I've planned. I'm sorry to everyone who wanted a revenge fic through and through. I hope you guys will still stay along for the ride even if the rest of the fic isn't exactly the same tone as it these first 8 chapters.
snowghoul
theartofmadeline
andulkaphoto
2087
vaporwave
